


Matched

by OceanPenguin



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Being matched together, F/M, Humor, Modeling, Romance, Snark, and not liking each other, but having to work it out anyways, cosplaying as yourself, designing, fashion competitions, really Adrien no need to dress up as Chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanPenguin/pseuds/OceanPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette Dupain-Cheng is your last match, Adrien Agreste, they said. No more second chances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matched

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so this is a Marriage Act/Matched ML idea I came up with. It's still essentially ML, it just has a few other elements in it. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so this is a Marriage Act/Matched ML idea I came up with. It's still essentially ML, it just has a few other elements in it. This has been edited a bit. I would still recommend reading it through again, but there aren't any major changes. Enjoy!

They told him that she was the yin to his yang, the sun to his moon. They told him that she was the perfect match for him.

They were wrong.

After going through four possible partners by this point, Adrien liked to think that he knew himself better than the matching system ever would. So why the computer insisted on matching him with a variety of people was lost on him. Really, it would be better at this point for him to just _date_ someone. Having the opportunity to date was extremely rare, but Adrien thought the system could make an exception in his case. They didn’t.

After rejecting four of his five possible matches, surely they wouldn’t want him to fail on the fifth? Of course, there was always the option of being spouseless, but that would be akin to suicide. Unmarried people were shunned in society, seen as failures in life. They often had no job, no insurance, and no welfare after retirement.

He groaned, letting his head fall against his apartment door. After locking it and tucking the key into his pocket, Adrien began the long walk towards the restaurant he had agreed to meet his match at. In his opinion, the Spousal Act of 1978 was one of the worst pieces of legislation that had ever passed through Parliament.

In the mid-1900s, after the two world wars, there hadn’t been enough children. Instead of the baby boom the government had predicted would happen, people stopped having kids. Apparently, no one wanted to bring a child into the world where world wars occurred within forty years of each other; it just wasn’t right to bring a new generation into a war-torn era. Few people could argue with that.

But the government still needed people. There had to be workers churning out products, managers overlooking production, and politicians leading the country. A young generation needed to support the older one or nations would be dominated by the elderly. A country without people was a weak country, and since no country wanted to be weak, spousal acts were gradually passed.

Resistance to the laws, while strong, was futile. The government batted the opposition away like a cat batting away a mouse.

 _What happened to free choice?_ the opposition asked.

 _Who is ever free?_ the government replied. _We choose pairings based on compatibility. Our models project a decrease in divorce, and you can always abstain from having children. But studies do show that couples who are married are more likely to have more children._

 _Well, what about doing what’s right?_ The opposition pursued the issue.

The government had laughed at this one. _Doing what’s right? We’ve always done what’s in the best interest of our country. We need people. And we’ve given you time; the population just isn’t growing._

 _We’ll be reasonable,_ Parliament had answered. _You’ll be matched to someone based on compatibility; you can start asking to be matched at any time after you turn eighteen. You’ve got six months with them to decide whether or not you want to be with them. If you don’t want to be married, then you’ll be able to petition for another match. However, you can have at most five potential partners, and you must be married by the age of twenty-five. Breaking any one of these conditions means that you’ll stay single for the remainder of your life._

 _You can date, of course, under a special set of circumstances,_ they had added. _But why date when your match is already there?_

Adrien stood, pushing his chair back. He had petitioned for his first match a few weeks after his eighteenth birthday, and he had met her two weeks later. She was fun, engaging, and kind, but after five months together, they both agreed they weren’t meant to be. So they split up, and Adrien petitioned for another match again.

And again. And again. There just seemed to be no one who captured his attention the way he always dreamed of, and no one came close enough to the girl he had in mind. Well, there _was_ someone, but what were the chances that Ladybug would be assigned to him?

Besides, Ladybug might not even exist. She could be a mask someone else put on to defeat akumas, and then put away just as easily. But he had accepted he was in love with a persona a long time ago, and starting the doubt himself now wasn’t the time to start.

But he had to get married before twenty-five, so here he was at the ripe old age of twenty-two to petition one last time, resolving to stick with this match, no matter what may happen. _Marinette Dupain-Cheng,_ the file had read. A smiling Asian girl stared back at him from her photo, and he quickly skimmed over her basic information, taking into account her birthday, eye color, height, and profession.

Hmm. A fashion design student about his own age? Interesting. It would be nice to talk about his job as a model for once without someone rolling their eyes at his stories. As a model, his years in the fashion industry meant picking up knowledge about everyone and everything that had even touched fashion. It was exhausting, honestly, when the only jokes he knew were ones that dealt with professional jargon. Even Nino had sighed, patted him on the shoulder, and handed him a book titled _One Hundred Tried and True Jokes._

The lights of the restaurant in front of him shook him out of his reverie. He was here. He checked his watch. _7:00pm._ Right on time.

Pushing open the door, he shot a dazzling smile at the waitress. “I think there’s a reservation for a table for two under Agreste?”

She nodded. “The other person has already arrived. Right this way, sir.”

She led him to a table near a corner, dimly lit with lamplight and decorated with a hanging pot. It was the most stereotypical date look Adrien had ever seen a table give, and he pulled the waitress aside, asking if she could turn up the intensity of the light.

She gave him a confused look before acquiescing, and the warm glow of the lamps vanished to be replaced by the bright glare of the lightbulbs.

A girl sat there, dressed in a casual cardigan and skirt. She looked up and smiled, holding out her hand. “Thanks. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You’re Adrien?”

He nodded stiffly. “Yes. Nice to meet you.” He took her hand, noting the warm, dry palm and the firm shake. She wasn’t nervous at all. He reminded himself to smile.

Her face faltered, before she pulled it up again with a twitch of her cheeks. “I hear you’re a model?”

He nodded. “Yes. You’re a fashion design student, right?”

She hummed. “I love it, really. Do you know anything about fashion?”

He smiled.  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “You’re talking to the model who’s been born in the industry.”

The conversation was stilted, but it wasn’t the worse one he had had. The food came, and they continued conversing over their meals – duck for her, salmon for him. His mind occasionally flickered to Ladybug, and he surreptitiously checked his watch during the meal, wondering when it would be over. He just needed to put in enough effort to get her to marry him.

The conversation began to stutter towards the end of the meal, and Marinette’s face began to twitch. It wasn’t until he was signaling for the bill she said something.

“You’re obviously uninterested in me. I’ve seen you looking at your watch every minute, and it’s clear that you don’t want to be here. So why apply for a petition when you don’t want to even talk to your match?”

She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. “This a waste of time, for me and for you. You’re wasting a petition, too.”

He hadn’t presented a good enough impression. Irritation flared as he concluded that he would have to work to make her marry him; she wasn’t going to fall into his arms like the other people he had been matched with.

He tamped it down, already planning a way to get back into her good books.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you that impression," he replied, smoothing his voice out with honey. “First impressions can be false, however. If you give me another chance, I’m sure you’ll see something different.” He leans back, satisfied. There was something about his voice people found irresistible, and he doubted she could withstand its thrall.

She gives him a saccharine smile. “I’m sure I will. I’ve been observing you for the hour we’ve been here together, and your consistent behavior patterns simply tell me that you’re someone I’m not interested in, and someone who doesn’t even have the decency to try to make it a good meeting.”

She shook her head. "I can't believe they tried to match you with me. What kind of system is this?" She placed her share of the money on the bill, and pushed back her chair roughly, scraping the wooden legs against the tiled floor. "I'm done. I'm leaving. The system can't think that I'm your fit."

But it did, and he would marry her to save his own life. He had to.

"They did. How else would we have been matched together? Clearly, we must be compatible in some way," he retorted, desperate to keep her here. “Surely you wouldn’t want to waste a petition?”

She stiffened, and sat back down. “No, I wouldn’t.”

He smiled. “So why don’t we give this another chance. Try to make it work.”

“I don’t think it’s worth the effort if you won’t work with me,” she stated. “You’ve been looking at your watch all evening so you clearly want this meeting to be over. Now, you want me to stay. You’re desperate, aren’t you?” She leaned closer. “It must be your last match.”

He felt the blood draining out of his face. She knew, and that boded disaster for him. She could do anything to him, and he would stay. She could even refuse to marry him after six months, denying him the privileges he had been hoping for.

But her willingness to stay meant something. If this was only her second or third petition, she would have left him without a second glance. But if it were her fourth, or even her fifth, she would have treasured her petitions. She would have no hold over him.

It was time to take a gamble. “This must be your last match as well,” he said into her ear.

She recoiled, sending a poisonous glare his way. "It's none of your business." He could see by the way she tightened her shoulders and how she drew into herself that it was.

"It is," he replied. "Because, you see, you're my last chance at happiness as well."

"Happiness?" She laughed harshly. "What happiness? Meetings after meetings with none of them going anywhere. None of the people they said would match me fit my personality."

"Maybe you weren't trying hard enough," he suggested.

"Maybe," she conceded. "But I can find my own happiness, and that happiness clearly doesn't include you. I'm leaving." 

"It does," he countered quickly, leaning over to block her exit. "Do I need to explain it to you?"

She looked furious, blue eyes flashing. “No,” she snapped.

"Unless you’re willing to commit social suicide, you have to stay.” He gave her the all-knowing look people detested.

"Do I?" She glared. "I'd rather be second-class than tied to you for the rest of my life."

"Really?"

She huffed. "Yes."

"Truly?" he arched a brow. "No welfare, no insurance, no job. You'll be practically a slave if you don't marry me."

She looked pained. "I know, but I don't want to live with someone I can't stand for eternity."

"It's not eternity, darling. It's just some seventy-odd years."

*******

What a smart aleck. She could tell that he was amused from antagonizing her. Like a little boy pulling a girl's pigtails on the playground, he just wouldn't stop. And like the girl who was being antagonized, she refused to make life easier for him bycalling the teacher each time.

Truth to be told, it was her last match as well. She'd already petitioned four times for a new spouse, and the system was already exasperated with her.

 _How many different people do you need to meet until you settle down?_ the receptionist had asked her. _Most people only petition once or twice. Five times is almost unheard of._

It wasn't that she wanted to sabotage her pairings; it was that she didn't want her partners. Marinette already had the idea of a picture-perfect prince affixed in her head so strongly that any partner who didn't fulfill her imagination was rejected immediately.

Poor Nathanaël had tried so hard to be the charming spouse she wanted, but she'd broken it off with him just before the six month period was up. He kept changing himself for her; she could tell. And although she liked him, she didn't want to be with a chameleon the rest of her life.

 Ivan, bulky and large, was still hung up over the last potential spouse he'd seen. They'd gotten back together, she'd heard, after much encouragement from Marinette. She was torn up about the whole thing, actually. Why waste a petition to meet new people when you obviously weren't over the last one?

Nino had been paired with Marinette as a mistake; her file had been labeled as Alya's and his had been labeled as Kim's. They met each other and had called each other the wrong names to begin with, then proceeded to confuse each other with profile references that Marinette had never remembered being in her profile. It took them a few minutes, but they figured out that there was a mistake. After that fiasco of a date, Marinette had begged the receptionist to allow her an extra petition since a clerical error had wasted a petition, but the receptionist only showed her the rules. _Five petitions only,_ she had drawled. _Errors still count._

Marinette had left, fuming.

Her next match had been Max, a video game fanatic. He'd been alright at first, but due to his tendency to quote player statistics (and his utter inability to talk about something other than video games) had caused her to break up within two months, petitioning for another match.

And now she was stuck with Adrien.

She's never lasted until the six month period. All of her partners were flawed in some way she couldn't accept, and she supposed that was a part of her character. But the only person she wanted to be her spouse? Not available. It wasn't like she could go to the receptionist and say, "You know Chat Noir? The superhero who saves Paris with me, also known as Ladybug? Yeah, I'd like him please."

Marinette sighed. She couldn't count how many times she wanted to tell him her civilian identity after turning him away countless times, but she gradually noticed his interest in her fading in recent years. Marinette assumed he had a spouse, so she dropped the matter.

Marinette leveled a stare at Adrien. "Seventy-odd years in hell. Lovely."

"Look, I'll try to say this again: I need you, and you need me. So let's try to make this work, alright?"

She sighed. "Fine. So why don't we try to start learning about each other. Things that _aren't_ on the profile." She settled back into her chair.

********

He snapped his mouth shut. There was nothing he wanted to tell her other than what she already knew: his appearance, his age, his occupation, and his hobbies.

"I have nothing to say to you, then," he replied. "You want personal, and I don't give personal details on the first meeting."

"I thought you wanted to make this work. We're each other's last chance, remember?" She tapped a finger on her chin.

"Fine," he muttered sullenly. She was right; they needed to open up to each other, but at the same time, he didn’t trust her. He didn’t want to tell some stranger stories of his life that she’ll sell to the tabloids at the next moment.

"I'll go first then," she volunteered, smirking at his discomfort. "I grew up in a bakery, and I think my mom makes the best macarons recipe in Paris. You?"

He wasn’t willing to back down. "I used to fence; I was quite good.”

“That’s on the profile,” she muttered, lifting her phone and showing him his file. “Choose another one.”

“Jagged Stone is my favorite rock artist,” he gritted out.

“That’s better. He’s mine, too,” she added. 

He wanted to antagonize her, to get under her skin. She was fun when she was angry. "So tell me, how come you've had to petition five times? Surely someone liked you."

She was unamused. "I thought we weren't going for personal information?"

"But this isn't personal," he replied. "Usually the petition number is on the profile. You just chose to hide it."

"As did you." She countered.

"Humor me, my lady," he drawled. He wanted to slap himself as soon as the words came out of his mouth. She wasn’t Ladybug, wasn’t the person he wanted to be paired with. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, at best.

"Forget I said that," he muttered. "Just, humor me."

"I was paired up with four different people. Two who didn't fit me, and two that were mistakes. One was my best friend's husband and the other was still hung up over his previous pairing. What about you? Surely your looks would've ensnared someone by now."

"You’d think that, wouldn’t you? They didn't match me, and one girl wasn't over her previous pairing. One girl married my best friend."

"What was that girl's name?" She asked curiously.

"Alya.  Alya Césaire. She married Nino Lahiffe. Do you know him?"

"What a coincidence," she murmured. "I was paired with Nino by mistake, and he married my best friend Alya. What are the chances?"

"One in a million?" he suggested. "That really was something."  He concealed his worry with snicker. Hawkmoth had threatened to mess with Ladybug and Chat Noir's lives shortly before he turned eighteen, the accepted age to start finding spouses. He didn't realize what it meant at the time, but he did now. Hawkmoth had hacked into the matching system to sabotage his pairings. How else could he explain the utter lack of compatibility between his pairs and him?

But the fact that Marinette's pairs had been tampered with as well-surely that was a clerical error? They were rare, but they happened. She couldn't be Ladybug. As far as he knew, Ladybug had already settled down. She'd mentioned that she was happily paired a year or two back, and never said anything about pairs since. He had assumed that she was already married, and had cut down on the flirting in response.

Suddenly, the timer on his phone beeped, jerking me out of my reverie. "It's 8:30. Sorry, I have to go," he apologized half-heartedly. "Previous engagements."

She looked up. "No need. I need to leave as well." She glanced at the food. "Same place, same time next week?"

He shrugged. "You want to keep this up?"

"We do need each other," she pointed out. "And although I think you'll make a horrible romantic partner, you seem interesting."

"Same time, same place next week?"

She nodded. "Fine." She checked her share of the check was on the table and left quickly, skirt swishing around her.

He pushed back my chair and handed the check to waiter, then walked outside. Night patrol was waiting, and Ladybug hated it when he was late.

He dodged into a dark alley. "Plagg, transform me!"

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am looking for a beta reader. If anyone would like to beta this, please message me. This has also been edited. Enjoy!

Marinette fumed as she stormed out of the restaurant. The meeting had been terrible. It had been postponed for a month because of busy schedules, and first impressions seemed that her love life would be a disaster.

Adrien, rich and handsome, was nothing she expected.

She'd thought him to be anything but the aloof, mercurial blond she'd met tonight. She could handle people; hell, she was a self-proclaimed people person. But the one type of person she couldn't handle was the one that didn't care.

From what she'd seen from him tonight, he only cared about himself. His smiles and manners had struck her as odd until she noticed his smirks and unnatural facial expressions, leading her to realize that Adrien only constructed a facade for the world to see.

She huffed angrily.

Four failed petitions and fate had handed her _Adrien_. Sighing, she hurried down the road. There was nothing to do now; the law strictly dictated that matches, once broken off, could only be paired again once, and both partners had to be single. All of her previous matches were happily married, leaving her no choice but to marry Adrien.

He was infuriating, not at all like Chat.

Saying his name made her float a little inside, because he was the only person she'd met so far who fit her image of a picture-perfect prince. Gorgeous and charming, he was kind and intelligent. Chat knew what to say and when to say it. Even though she constantly rolled her eyes at his puns, she had to admit they were ingenious.

The only problem was that they would never be matched together. Even if Chat had liked Ladybug, he had dialed back on the flirting a year or two ago, leading Marinette to believe that Chat no longer reciprocated her feelings. Furthermore, Chat had mentioned seeing a potential spouse a few weeks back, and Marinette instinctively knew that Chat was already happily paired. Her heart had clenched during the conversation, but Marinette reminded herself that Chat deserved a chance of happiness as well. She should be happy for him, so she pasted a smile on and nodded along.

She wanted to tear her hair out in frustration.

Stomping into her apartment, she shoved open the door. The small apartment was cozy, boasting two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen that doubled as the living room. She had decorated it in light colors and furnished it with comfy chairs. Her closet featured her own creations, and one cabinet was filled with sewing supplies.

She quickly checked if her roommate was around, then quietly whispered, “It’s safe,” to the empty air.

Her kwami popped from the hidden pouch sewn on the inside of Marinette’s blouse. “Patrol?” she asked.

“I think so.” She set her purse out on the counter, digging through it to find her phone. If memory served, there was patrol tonight. She pulled out the phone triumphantly, tapping the notifications on her calendar to see _9:00 Patrol_ written on the slot.

Marinette nodded. “Patrol with Chat. If only he could’ve been matched to me,” she groaned.

Tikki’s expression shifted before settling onto a sympathetic one. “Being with Chat would have made things much easier, wouldn’t it?”

Marinette sighed. Tikki floated over the her charge, gently patting her hair. "I know Adrien isn’t who you wanted, but he's the only one you have now," she said softly. "Things will get better. And give him a chance – maybe he had a bad day, or he likes someone else.”

“Then why did he petition for me? Oh, I know,” she snapped her fingers, answering her own question. “He just wants the benefits that come with being married.”

“You have to admit you’re doing it for the benefits too,” Tikki scolded gently. “Don’t pretend they aren’t a motivating factor.”

Marinette nodded, the anger slowly seeping out of her as she viewed the outings–pre-match meetings, outings implied some type of positivity – as a business arrangement. It wouldn’t be too bad. Her gaze landed on her phone’s calendar. Of course. How could she have forgotten? Patrol with Chat. Her traitorous heart fluttered at the thought.

She turned to Tikki, silently asking permission to transform into Ladybug. After receiving a nod, Marinette quickly packed her bag with cookies for Tikki and locked the door to her apartment. Receiving a nod, Marinette yelled, "Transform me!"

She sprinted across the rooftops, the wind whipping her face. Ladybug loved racing in the cool fall air. There was something about seeing the leaves turn red and yellow that caught her attention, and the air always seemed crisper to her after Paris’s hot, humid summers.

The great view was also a benefit, too. While the rooftops weren’t always maintained well, and she had to constantly watch out for stray rocks and pebbles that would trip her, there were some things that could only be seen from a rooftop. The top of a gargoyle’s head, for instance, was one of those things. It seemed funny when she first thought of how she freaked out over seeing the patch of rough stone, but they were something she looked forward to every time.

She quickly swung her way past the last few blocks in front of the meeting point, before climbing the Eiffel Tower. The lights were blinding, and while it didn’t make for a good spot to find crime, the monument was ostentatious and close enough that she could get here quickly.

Chat was already there, standing on the observation deck. He turned, and she was struck by how similar his hair and eyes were to Adrien's. Their hair was almost the same shade of blond, the eyes identical shades of sea glass green. Her heart beat furiously in her chest.

"Ready to get this patrol on the road?" he asked.

He didn't look at her, a clear indication that something was off. Chat always paid attention to those he spoke to unless he didn't want them to see his facial expressions. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, my Lady." He didn't miss a beat, glancing at her as he spoke. His face was wiped clear of emotion, then replaced with a grin. "You know _purrfectly_ well that this cat isn't ever down."

"Down on the ground, you mean," she said. "You look more like a cat who was forced to take a bath. Anything good or bad happen today?"

He dropped the grin. "Like the Spousal Act of 1978?"

"I thought you already had a partner." He was happily paired, wasn't he? So why was she getting the impression that the Act was causing him trouble?

"I thought I did. Until I realized I would be getting a mutually beneficial arrangement at best."

"She can't be that bad," she suggested. Now she was even more confused. He had mentioned that he was paired with a person a few weeks back, so why was he realizing that his match was horrible a few meetings down the line? Most people usually revealed their true colors soon. There was often no need to hid behind false masks during these meetings. Incompatibility, if present, would rear its ugly head soon enough.

Chat frowned. "We’re not compatible.  I can tell, and it's only our first meeting."

"Really? I thought you mentioned being matched a few weeks back."

Chat nodded. "I did. But since we didn't have time in our schedules, we postponed the meeting until today. I had such high hopes, but she dashed them all within the hour."

It seemed that he wasn’t happily paired at all, so he mentioned the match as an agreement. "If she's so bad, then petition for another spouse." Unlike him, she reflected bitterly, she had to marry the person she was paired with.

"I can't."

His words took her by surprise. She stared at him, thoughts running through her head. She'd rarely heard of anyone being locked into his situation – most people married before the age of 25, and usually people found someone compatible within three or four matches. People who were forced to stay with their match were rare, and it was usually because they were on their last petition.  

"This is personal, but if you don't mind me asking, why not?" she asked. She was curious, and itching to know about his life. But by the time she wanted to share her identity, Chat seemed keen on protecting his own. He no longer constantly asked her questions about her life, and in turn, she'd never asked about his. The parts she knew about his life were tidbits she had gleaned from conversations, parts that were never talked about or expanded on.

He hesitated, searching her eyes. A long second passed before he spoke. "Promise you won't judge me once I tell you why?"

She nodded, honored that he trusted her enough to tell her. "Of course not! We've seen each other in too many situations to judge each other based on our matches."

He smiled dryly. "I've got no choice...because she's my last petition."

 _Oh._ It didn't take a genius to understand why he was reluctant. Few people reached their fifth pairing, and those who did were considered shameful because they couldn't settle down. Like her, an inner voice whispered.

"It’s hard not to like you." How come he wasn't married already? she mused. He was caring, loyal, and had a nice sense of humor. And he was quite attractive, too.  

Chat snorted. "Depends on who you're talking to."

"So what did you do that made her so mad?" There was a lingering smile on her face.

"Why do assume that I made her mad? She could be a complete idiot," he retorted.

It was so typical of him to defend himself so quickly. Her heart fluttered.

"Knowing you, not so much." She smirked. He laughed lightly. "So, what did you do?"

"So, what did you do?"

"I pretended I cared about her." His face was tilted downwards, and a red blush suffused his face. He was ashamed.  

"So you were a fake." A neutral tone masked her feelings. If she were there, she wouldn’t have liked him either. But he was her friend, and she knew him well enough not to judge him immediately. He would explain if she didn’t say anything soon.

"I didn't care for her. But I thought that if I did, it would make things easier for both of us – I could talk to her more easily and she would be getting a spouse who listened," he confessed. 

"You don't seem to be the type to judge from the start." That wasn’t like the Chat she knew.

He sighed. "It wasn't that I didn't like her; it was that she wasn't the one I wanted. So I tried treating her like she was the person I wanted to be married to, but it didn't turn out so well."

"No wonder," she muttered under her breath. "No one wants to be seen as a substitute for others. She must have had a horrible time with your behavior, wondering why you were so...off." 

"Actually, she was the one who called me out on it," he recalled. "She just went ahead and lay into me about how I was a false person, and scolded me about being aloof. She was smirking while she was doing it. It seemed like she had some fun," he joked.

Ladybug held back a grin. "I wish you luck on your impending marriage." That was exactly what she would have done, had she been there. She began to feel more amused than irritated.

"I wish myself luck too." He smirked. "If I don't kill myself first." A pause passed before he swung around to ask her another question, almost as if he had suddenly thought of something. "What about you? How's your match going?"

Her face was pained. "Don't remind me."

"Not so well then? I thought you were already matched."

She shook her head, the words coming out in a stream. "I'm on my last match too, and so is my most recent partner. We're clearly not meant to be together; our first meeting tonight consisted of arguing half the time. Funnily enough, I've never really clicked with any of my matches."

He hummed in agreement. "Neither have I. Hey, do you think that Hawkmoth could be the one behind all this?"

Her head whipped around at the unexpected question, her ponytail slapping her face. "Ouch! You were saying?"

Chat repeated himself. "Could Hawkmoth be the one sabotaging our matches?"

"What makes you think that our matches are sabotaged?"

"He did threaten us a few years back about ruining our lives. And how many people do you know have reached their last petition? Furthermore, what are the chances that _both_ of the superheroes of Paris aren't matched yet?"

He had a point. "But, I haven't been the best person to be paired with. I've had an image of who I want to be my match ever since I was young, and none of my pairs have fit that fantasy. Maybe it's not Hawkmoth who's sabotaging the pair system, maybe it's me."

Chat sighed. "And I've had such a fixed image about who I want that I've been neglecting my pairs too."

"Treat that poor girl nicely, will you?" She admonished gently.

"What makes you think that I haven't been treating her nicely? For all you know, _I_ could've been the one who's been abused." He mimicked a sad kitty.

"When she had to confront you with your behavior? She is your future wife, the person you'll be living with for eternity." Ladybug reminded him.

"It's not eternity, it's just seventy-odd years," he retorted.

Ladybug was rendered speechless. What were the odds? Adrien, the insufferable prat, had just said that to her today. Did they share the same mind? She scrutinized him, taking in the blond hair and green eyes, the long lean build, and the occupation in fashion he just so happened to share with Adrien.

She didn't notice that she had taken his face into her hands, analyzing his almond-shaped eyes, almost symmetrical across his face. She took in the  gentle green irises that were the runway trend. What would his measurements be, she wondered, and abruptly snapped the string out of her yo-yo.

“Stand straight,” she barked, automatically moving into designer autopilot. She wanted to see if he could be a model, and the skintight suit was perfect for getting accurate measurements.

As he stood stock still, she smoothed her hands up and down his body, wrapping her hands around his legs and torso to guess at his measurements before checking them with her yo-yo. Ladybug had marked lines on the string years ago when she wanted to measure the distance between two buildings but hadn’t had a ruler. It made for a handy measuring tape as well.

The string snapped in and out of the red disk as she pulled it around him. She checked the numbers twice, quickly memorizing the numbers in neat font imprinted in her head.    _Height: 6’2". Hips: 32". Inseam: 34". Chest: 41"._ He fit into runway standards perfectly.

Stepping back, she assessed his weight, estimating it to be at 150-160 lbs. That wasn’t a good enough estimate; people could look lighter than they actually were. She wrapped her arms around him and attempted to life him up, grunting when she couldn’t. He was definitely in her estimated weight zone. She had lifted – or tried to lift – models his size before, and Chat could’ve been one of their twins.

 "Are you a model?" she asked. Chat was lean and tall, one of the hallmarks of the industry. "You have the perfect body size for one. You've also told me that you have an associate's degree in fashion, which all models need. Really, it would be a shame if you weren’t." She could see the drape of fabric across his body, carefully settling on his shoulders and narrowing at the waist. Chat’s slender musculature would give the cloth enough to cling to while being thin enough to hint at the shape of other structures. And even if he had to wear skin-tight clothing, he wasn’t bulky enough for the muscles to detract from the catwalk’s slinky moves. 

Yes, he could make outfits look good. She almost wanted to drag him away and make a body cast so she could design clothes forever with it.

When he didn't answer, she lifted her eyes to his face impatiently, noting that his skin had taken on a rosy hue, and he was resolutely staring away from her. As she absently noted the perfect shade of pink flushing his skin, she was unclear as to why he was embarrassed. Why was he blushing? There was nothing for him to worry about. Surely he knew his body was fine. So why was he – oh.

She felt as if a ton of bricks had landed on her head.

Clarity rushed into her body, understanding flooding into her pores. Ladybug, not the designer, was the one in the controller’s seat now. Of all the times to do so, she had just ran her hands over Chat's body without any apparent reason. And he had let her. But why hadn’t he stopped her if he was so uncomfortable? She shoved the thoughts out of her head, resolving to think about them later. Right now, she needed to focus on solving the major faux pas she had committed.

"Oh-my-god-I-am-so-sorry!" The words came out in a rush. "I was completely inappropriate. You just reminded me of my match because both of you look like models and I just wanted to check your measurements and it turned out that you _do_ have the measurements of a model." She paused to take a breath, then launched back into her apology. "And I know that models need a fashion degree and I know you have one and you're working and I'm sorry but I just wanted to know."

*******

He shook my head, the heat slowly receding from his face. She was so cute when she rambled. "Apology accepted. Just ask me next time, alright? I nearly thought you were going to tie me up when you whipped out that yo-yo of yours." Although he wouldn't mind being tied up by her. It might never happen, but it didn’t stop him from dreaming.

She chuckled. "It's not like you haven't been tied up before."

He shuddered at the memory. "And dangled upside down while hanging from a telephone pole. No thanks. And to answer your question, I am a model." He remembered the way her practiced hands had handled the yo-yo string.

"I'm guessing you're studying fashion?" he added.

She nodded. "Fashion design, actually. Trying to live the dream." She looked out over the Seine River, catching sight of the clock tower. "It's gone on ten!" Ladybug launched herself off the tower. "We've got to patrol!"

Chuckling, he hopped off onto the adjacent roof. "Until next time!"

Her faint reply was an echo in the dark.

As he hopped from building to building, taking a separate patrol route as was our routine, he could only think of how her hands had run over his suit. Lithe fingers with a light touch, dexterous and agile. Her hands were almost a blur with speed, indicating her skill and practice.

It had felt nice, and he couldn't bring myself to stop her. Usually, he only allowed fashion designers to touch me, and only for the minimum amount of time required. But with Ladybug, she had him standing straight with the first words.

But Ladybug was studying design. Who knew? Maybe they could meet one day. He was sure he could recognize her anywhere, even in civilian form.

He returned home, hopping in through the window. After getting his degree, he had moved out of the mansion, choosing to live instead in a small apartment. Adrien still worked with Agreste Industries. He just wanted a taste of the freedom he had been denied in childhood. After flopping onto his bedcovers, fantasies of meeting Ladybug in civilian form dominated his sleep that night.

*******

Marinette flicked her computer on after patrol, searching for Adrien's profile in the electronic match folder she was given. She had a hunch she wanted to explore further after measuring Chat's body. She scanned the folder frantically, rapidly clicking the mouse through the pages. _Found it._ There it was, Adrien's  physical measurements, staring back at her in black letters: _Height: 6'2". Weight: 157lbs. Occupation: Model. Education: Associate's degree in fashion design._

And the most damning thing of all: when she stared into Adrien's portrait, Chat's green eyes stared right back.

_Adrien was Chat._

_Chat was Adrien._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm @oceanpenguin on tumblr, if anyone wants to talk. Thoughts, anyone?


	3. Contests of Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which multiple contests take place. Edited. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my betas Yamina20 and MsEvilGenius for whipping this one into shape. I'm sorry about my long absence from updating. Finals were horrible, and took so much study time I had significantly less time than usual to work on the chapter. Hopefully I have more time in the coming weeks.
> 
> Enjoy!

Marinette slumped forward on the desk, letting her head hit the table with a thump. The pain did little to distract from the dull, pounding headache that accompanied sleep deprivation. As she groaned from the pain, she internally cursed her overactive imagination.

Where had she gotten the idea that Chat could be Adrien? Her lovable partner could have never become such a false person. She had spent the past two nights debating about her hypothesis. Marinette had created chart after chart in her head to compare elements from their lives, going so far as to include their hobbies, personalities, physical characteristics, and lifestyles.

From what she had gathered, although Adrien and Chat were nearly carbon copies of each other, there was nothing about their personalities that suggested that they could be the same person. Adrien was aloof without trying, while Chat was naturally warm. Adrien purposefully antagonized her, only agreeing to marry her in self-interest, while Chat respected her feelings. She reasoned that her logic, comparisons, and charts all pointed to the fact that Chat and Adrien were different people.

Only her instincts screamed otherwise.

Marinette refused to entertain the possibility, because she didn't want to accept that Chat could be Adrien, to accept that a person could be so different towards other people. She just didn’t think it was possible.

She remembered video calling Alya yesterday after to discuss Adrien after winding herself up into knots trying to think about the comparisons.

"Hey girl, how's it going?" The screen was fuzzy, showing pixilated blobs of color that was supposed to be Alya’s room. Her friend’s smile was stark white, startling in the background.

"Horrible.”

Alya made a commiserating sound.  "Didn't you have a pre-match meeting yesterday? How was it? Were you compatible?"

"No." Marinette paused, debating what to say next. "You know how I'm on my last match?"

Alya hummed in agreement. Marinette had told her in a fit of anger and frustration after her fourth match was broken off.

"I have no idea how they paired us, but he is the most insufferable person I've ever met!" Marinette could feel a rant building and Alya had the good sense to stay silent, even with a small smile growing on her lips.

"He's such an idiot!” Marinette punctuated the line with a jab in the air.

“Yes. Keep going.” Alya motioned with her hands. “I feel something coming on.”

“He puts on this facade of a caring person, but he doesn't care at all. The only person he loves is himself, and to hell with other people! He told me outright that the only reason he was going to marry me was because he didn't want to be bereft of those lovely benefits that came with being married.  He doesn't care about me at all! The only reason why I agreed to marry him was because it was my last match too. I don't want to be 'a slave,' as he put it." Her arms waved around frantically as she ranted, and she smacked the screen occasionally, adding the odd _whap_ to the middle of a sentence.

"It seems like you both can't stand each other." Alya looked like she was trying not to laugh, but she was failing miserably as a small snicker escaped.

"Not a single bit! You can't believe the amount of sass he kept giving off, snarky comments coming left, right, and center. He kept smirking and provoking me, and I just hated it, so I kept pushing his buttons as well.” She crossed her arms across her chest.

"So...it's a beneficial arrangement with romantic feelings the temperature of the Arctic ocean," her friend concluded. 

"That pretty much sums it up."

"So, who's this lucky guy's name?"

Marinette felt her cheeks heat up. "Adrien Agreste."

"Model son of Gabriel Agreste, designer extraordinaire? He's _hot_." Alya fanned herself with a hand.

"Alya! What about Nino?"

"Hey, just because I'm off the market doesn't mean I can't appreciate beauty when I see it."

Marinette rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter how hot he is, it doesn't change the fact that he's a-a-"

"An insufferable, horrible, inhumanly annoying prat?"

Marinette nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly."

"There's a thin line between love and hate, you know." A teasing tone made its way across the connection before the lights in Alya’s room went out. “Don’t mind the lights. We’ve been having some power outages recently.”

"I don’t mind. Alya, what are you saying?" Marinette leaned closer to the screen, trying to make out her friend’s facial expression.

"I'm just saying what people have been saying since the dawn of time." Alya’s face was still shrouded in darkness, but Marinette was sure there was a smirk there.

"There may be a thin line between love and hate, but there is a thinner one between hatred and murder."

"I'd like to see who loses control first."

Marinette hummed. "No way to tell."

She had hung up after, citing a long night. Alya agreed, saying that she needed her beauty sleep.

By talking to Alya, Marinette had cleared a few things up in her life: that Adrien and she were destined natural enemies, that she needed to marry Adrien, and that she was using him just as much as he was using her. She tried not to feel too guilty about that last bit.

Her teacher's words broke through her thoughts. "As you all know, Gabriel Agreste, an internationally renowned fashion designer, holds a yearly fashion design contest."

Her eyes focused on the sheet of yellow paper in front of her, stamped with Gabriel Agreste's signature black butterfly.

A fashion contest?

As her professor gestured towards the door, she focused on her teacher's words. "Each year, there is a theme, often revolving around a particular style of clothing or current fashion trend. This year is an anomaly. Mr. Agreste challenges you to create a work of art...without a theme."

Marinette's head jerked up, her excitement piqued. It would be an easy way to add to her portfolio as well as challenging herself to design outside the box. She could already feel the gears turning in her head, pieces of fabric wrapping themselves around imaginary mannequins.

"Since you have almost completed a bachelor's degree, the contest requires each of you to create a three-piece collection. This collection may be composed of evening wear, athletic wear, or any in between. It must be reasonable, and is targeted for daily wear." A flash of blond hair near the exit of the room caught her eye.

"The winner of the contest will receive an internship with the company. Mr. Agreste prefers to see the entries with models wearing the pieces, and because it is his contest, the models wearing your designs will be models signed to Agreste Corporations."

Marinette felt her heart sink. _No, it couldn't be._ "Participation in this assignment is highly recommended. This is a good way for others to critique your work and for you to learn from this experience. Since a few students from my class enter this contest each year, I have already contacted Mr. Agreste, and he has sent a few models for you to meet. If you decide to participate in this contest, please do so now. This will be the only guaranteed chance for you to pair up with a model from Agreste Corporations."

Her teacher waved at the group of people standing near the door. "Come on out," Madame called. "They have volunteered to work with you today."

The models lined up, their faces bearing friendly smiles. They began to introduce themselves by name, and Marinette’s heart sank when she heard Adrien’s voice. She scrutinized the models, noting the diverse coloring and the uniform body size. Marinette made a mental note to work with Aurore, since her light blue eyes and blond hair would work well with what Marinette had in mind. She exuded a comfortable personality as well, and by working with her, Marinette hoped to avoid Adrien.

The professor sighed after the introductions. "However, this was the caveat Mr. Agreste gave to his models: if their match is in the room, they must work with their match, or both cannot participate in this contest.  This condition is not new: Mr. Agreste has required this of his models since the Act has been active, believing that a working relationship may strengthen bonds."

Marinette felt anger burning in her, and she silently cursed Gabriel Agreste, no matter how talented he was. She had to work with Adrien. The only bond this contest will strengthen is their hatred for each other. Perhaps she could poke him with a sewing needle and claim it was an accident; such mistakes happened to even the most experienced of seamstresses.

She brightened as she realized she could just not enter the contest. 

But not entering the contest wasn't an option. This was her last year of study, and if she wanted to make a splash in the fashion world, participating in Gabriel Agreste's contest could help her grow as a designer and draw attention to her designs, even if she didn't win.

There would be benefits for Adrien if he entered as well. But he was already  internationally known, and had been listed as one of the most promising models in recent years. So why was he here?

Marinette moved towards Adrien, determined to start working. This was a once of a time opportunity, and she'd be stupid if she didn't use it. Hopefully, his desire for the possible prizes would prove greater than his disgust for her.

She scanned him, taking in the white shirt and jeans. He was wearing a casual outfit? She had thought that he was certainly aloof enough to be wearing suits every day. 

He smirked. "Really? Now you know that I don't."

She could feel her cheeks turning red as she realized she had said the last bit that out loud. She could feel the mortification rising. "I was wondering if you wanted to enter the contest."

"I don't really need to." He looked down on her.

She sighed. "There'd be benefits for both of us, and although I know that you're an upcoming model and Gabriel Agreste’s son, exposure is always welcome."

He didn't look convinced.

"It's a great opportunity," she spread her hands out. "I know that you can't stand me, and you already know that I can't stand you, but don't let your personal feelings get into your way of career advancement. Not to mention, we can improve our relationship?" The last sentence came out of gritted teeth, and Marinette made a conscious effort to smile.

"Right." He drew out the word. "Parroting my father isn't going to get you anywhere. The whole point of the contest is to create something new, something avant-garde. You won't be that if you copy others."

He shifted his stance. "If I'm going to work with you, we'll need to make a few guidelines."

Marinette looked up. "I agree. Why don't we draw one up right now." She didn’t trust him any further than she could throw him.

She led the way to her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. "First things first: a professional attitude.”

“I find it insulting that you think I can’t be professional,” he commented.

“And yet, I see that my fears are justified once again.” She pointed the pen at him. “ _Can_ you?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have asked it otherwise.” She scribbled another condition down, reading it aloud. “Next. Be cooperative.”

"That goes both ways." He added something in parentheses, loopy, elegant words appearing on the paper. "That means no stabbing me _accidentally_ with a pin."

She could feel her hopes dying. "And don't lie to me about the fit of the clothes, either. You'll end up looking like a fish otherwise."

"I look good in anything."

"Even in a trash bag? I'll take that with a grain of salt."

He snorted. "You just won't admit how hot I am."

"You being attractive has nothing to do with anything!" she snapped.

Adrien lifted an eyebrow. " _Yes,_ it does. I'm a model. Which leads me to believe...that your vehement denial of my attractiveness is because you like me."

She rolled her eyes. "You've got to be kidding. How juvenile is that?"

He began to pace back and forth, hands clasped behind his back in a poor imitation of a professor. "Studies have shown that the more children like each other, the more they antagonize each other. And since you dream of stabbing me with sewing pins –"

"– and needles –"

"– you obviously like antagonizing me. Therefore, you like me."

"In your dreams."

"There's thin line between love and hate."

"Are you suggesting that you like _me_? That goes both ways, you know. You antagonize me as well. It's not like my dislike for you is one-sided."

He grimaced.

"Double-edged sword. Be careful of what you say."

"Be careful of what you do. I might just back out of this contest."

She stared at him. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me." He seemed serious.

They stared at each other, stubborn stances mirroring one another. He wouldn’t, would he? But she wasn’t willing to call his bluff, so she sighed and agreed.

"Alright. I'll cooperate, if you will."

"I will." He scanned over the short list. "I think that's about it."

She read through it again. "I've got nothing to add." She reminded herself to calm down.

Marinette then picked up the contest flyer, carefully reading through the constraints.

There was approximately two months to create a design, but the designs had to be sent in a week before the garments were submitted. That left her seven weeks, and she usually set aside a month's time to create and adjust clothing, which left her with three weeks to for inspiration.

"This seems to be on a tight time schedule," she commented, driving the conversation away from their less-than-positive feelings for each other. Be professional, she reminded herself _._ "Any reason why your father would do that?"

Adrien shrugged. "It's always been a component of his design contests. He says he does it that way to see how well people hold under pressure."

Unlike you, his eyes sneered.

"Alright. I know you have a job, so is there any time we can meet up so I can take your measurements and adjust the clothes?"

"My job is sporadic," he stated. "Photo shoots don't always notify me with much notice, and they can last anywhere from a few hours to the entire day. It's going to be fashion week in October this year, and I'm going to be extremely busy with the process. In fact, all of the models will be."

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the calendar. "The only times I am guaranteed to be free is the hour we agreed to spend with each other each week for pre-match meetings. Unless you'd like to replace that with a session, I can't say that there's a time and place for us to meet up."

Marinette sighed. It was just as she suspected. Adrien was a model in high demand, and for him to have time was like finding a diamond in the desert. She already had his measurements, but it was always advantageous to take new measurements again. There was no telling how recently he was measured. "How about I measure you now?" she suggested.

"But don't you already have my measurements in the profile?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. Not all of the ones I need."

He shrugged. "If you'd like."

 "Is there a place you'd like to change? We have curtains over there."

"Yes," he said curtly. "Despite being a model, I'd rather not take my clothes off in public."

He followed her to one of the changing rooms. "Now if you could just take your shirt off," she directed, "I'll take a quick measurement of your upper body." As he slipped the garment off, she looped the measuring tape around his chest. With a shrug, she measured his neck, arm, and waist as well. She always wanted those measurements handy in case she decided to design evening wear.

"Can you take your pants off too? I need an upper and lower hip measurement as well as the inseam."

He nodded, and she bent down, measuring him quickly. Scanning his body once again, she asked, "How many people have your exact measurements?"

Adrien frowned, pulling his shirt over his head. "I don't see how this impacts your designs in any way."

"Humor me."

"If you're talking about body measurements, then quite a few. Models need to be a specific size to  fit into clothing."

"People with your height and coloring was what I meant."

"Then not as many. Green-eyed blond guys aren't exactly everywhere," he said. He secured his pants with a belt. "Even further, a minuscule amount of people become models. Is there someone you're looking for?"

Marinette shook her head quickly. "No. I just wanted to know how unique your look was."

Suddenly, she realized that she had indirectly objectified him. She felt bad for treating him as lower than a human being, and even if he was a despicable one, he deserved the acknowledgement, at the very least. As she was opening her mouth to apologize, he interrupted.

"Trying to gain an edge over competition?" He smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Guess us being matched together was not a complete waste."

"We'll see about that," Marinette muttered under her breath. She looked up, expecting a snappy comeback, but instead, she saw a flash of _something_ in his eyes before he replied.

"Yeah," he answered. "Maybe."

The atmosphere had become awkward, all of a sudden. Marinette didn't know where to look, and she was unsure if he wanted an apology. She opened her mouth to start one, but closed it again when she realized that he still wasn't looking at her. She decided to break the silence.

"I know you're busy, but when can we meet up again to start the fittings? It’ll be at least a week or two before I’m finished with the rough prototypes."

"I'll contact you. Do you have my number?"

"No."

"Check the profile, then."

She sighed. It seemed that she had offended him with her comments, and he was unwilling to cooperate. She didn't want to incite him further by reminding him about the cooperation clause, but she really did need his number.

"What if it isn't on the profile? Mine is 33-63-67-66," she offered, hoping that by offering her own, he would tell her his.

 

"33-63-51-24," he said.

A distant bell signaled the end of class.

He nodded. "Alright. See you then." She watched him stride out of the changing room and turn down the hall, the blond hair creating a halo around his head.

*******

As Marinette watched Adrien walk out of the classroom, her heart sank. That's Chat all right _,_ she thought grimly. From the walk to the talk, Adrien was Chat Noir's carbon copy. Her determination to prove herself wrong had her listening intently to his voice, from its inflections to its nuances. Fighting by Chat's side had cemented all memories of Chat's voice in her head; she could imagine him saying nearly anything with a crystal-clear imitation.

Once she paid attention to Adrien's voice, Chat's voice played in her head.

She had been too stunned to say anything, choosing instead to treat Adrien with a cool indifference. He seemed to be holding back today as well, and she thanked the gods above for his behavior. She didn't want any more to deal with, other than the design competition – _which she still had to sign up for._

"Madame!" she rushed towards her teacher's desk. "May I sign up?"

"Of course," she pushed the paper towards Marinette. "I know it's on a tight schedule, and if you need any help, just ask me."

Marinette smiled at her teacher. "Thank you." She'll definitely be taking Madame up on that offer soon, if she couldn't summon any inspiration.

Marinette flopped onto her bed, devoid of any inspiration. The only images playing in her head were images of Chat superimposed with Adrien, their voices blending together in harmony. She re-lived each and every one of their akuma battles, their nighttime patrols where they gradually became friends.

It was also where she began to develop a crush on Chat. Which meant a crush on Adrien. But whenever she tried to tell herself she liked _Adrien¸_ she felt nauseous...and slightly giddy.

What is she going to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the phone numbers in one of the episodes by accident, paused, replayed the clip, and wrote them down.Thoughts, anyone?


	4. Twists and Turns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beta Yamina20 for editing this one for me! On a second note, this one's a little longer than the others, which was completely by accident. I may continue writing longer chapters, but we'll see. Edited. Enjoy!

"Hey man, how's it going?" Nino's tinny voice filtered through the audio, coming through a few seconds after his mouth moved. The grainy image of his face wavered in front of the camera and his mouth came dangerously close to the lens.

"Can you see me? The reception here in Africa is pretty bad," he explained, waving a hand. Nino had been in Africa for the past half year to work with the Red Cross, citing a need to help others. He had signed up for a shift of six months, so shouldn't he have been back in France by now?

Adrien pushed the thought out of his mind. Nino would have told him if he were back in the country.

"I can see you," Adrien replied, grinning. The sight of his best friend always cheered him up, especially after a long day of photo shoots. "You're close enough to kiss."

Nino grinned, leaning closer to smooch his lips for the camera. "Adrihoney, you know you're my only love," he mimicked Mimi, a girl who had been in love with Adrien during their high school days. Nino flipped his non-existent hair, playing the role to the hilt. "Come, Adrisweetie, you know you'll love me!" Wet smooching sounds followed the declaration.

"I never knew you loved me, Nino," Adrien teased his friend. "We should have been matched together."

"Speaking of matches, how's your match?" Nino asked, curious. "How did the first meeting go?"

Adrien shook his head, not wanting to think about it. "Not good."

"At least tell me that she's pretty," He probed.

"Why would her being pretty have anything to do with you?" Adrien questioned. "You're already happily matched."

"Just tell me," Nino insisted.

"She's kind of pretty," Adrien admitted. "In a Ladybug sort of way."

"You mean with the whole _I am who I am and you better not stand in my way_ sort of attitude? I can see you falling for that."

"I do not _fur_ l for that," Adrien huffed.

"Then she'll fall for the puns," Nino snorted. "The good ones, at least. With your dashing good looks and sly sense of humor, she'll love you in no time."Nino seemed determined to make it a happy match.

"Give me about seventy-odd years. She'll love me when my body is six feet under."

Nino raised an eyebrow. "In a plush coffin? She can't be that bad. Unless...please tell me you didn't do that thing."

"What thing?" Adrien asked.

"You know, _that thing._ "

"No, I do not _know_ what _that thing_ is."

"Dude, please tell me you didn't pull the whole _I'm going to be nice to you but only because I have no choice_ thing at the first meeting."

"She told me, and I quote, ‘You’re obviously uninterested in me’."

Nino let out a sigh that could rival Gabriel Agreste's when a design went wrong."Yup, you did."

The model stared blankly.

"Because, oh handsome one, nobody likes that," Nino drawled in a superior tone. "No one wants to feel as if they're being treated nicely because the other person is obligated to, because everyone wants to be liked for themselves."

"She agreed to marry me to benefit herself," Adrien defended. "She's using me just as much as I'm using her, so why should she be mad?"

"Who is this girl?"

"Just someone who I keep bumping into," Adrien replied sullenly.

"So, someone you keep bumping into," Nino snickered. "Seems like one of those clichés you see in a classic romance novel."

Adrien rolled his eyes. "And asking someone out six times and being rejected for all of them isn't cliché?"

"Can it, mister," Nino threatened. "Or I'll send Alya after you to find all your deepest and darkest secrets."

"There's no use," Adrien retorted. "She's already after you."

"Then I'll send your match."

Adrien gaped. "What makes you so sure she'll actually do that?"

His friend puffed his chest out. "If she hates you as much as you say, she'll _definitely_ join in on my evil plan."

"You don't even know her," Adrien protested feebly.

"Then tell me about her, and I'll decide for myself." He seemed confident.

"Who is she, anyways?"  Nino asked curiously.

"No one," Adrien muttered.

Adrien heard a girl's voice in the background.

Nino answered Adrien's questioning look with a shake of his head. "Just a colleague. So, what other places do you bump into your lovely match?"

"Like a design contest, of all places." Adrien rolled his eyes.

"A design contest?" Nino was surprised. "Since when did you move from modeling to designing?"

"My dad has this design contest, and he insists that only models signed to his company are allowed to participate."

"And you were roped into it because you were his son?"

"I actually volunteered for it," Adrien explained. "I wanted to meet some new people, because that's what I like to do."

Nino burst out laughing. "Wouldn't have thought of it, considering how your match turned out."

Adrien ignored him with an affected air of poise. Nino's breathless laughs punctuated the silence, a girl's snickers overlaying his. Did Nino put a feminine filter over his voice?

Nino apologized with a snicker."Sorry, cheap shot. Continue please."

"So my dad decreed that if any model had a match there, they had to work with them. It just so happened that in the session I was assigned to, my match was there."

"And you had to work with her."

"Obviously." Adrien rolled his eyes. "She looked like she swallowed a toad when she first saw me, and that was before she learned that we had to work together. As if I didn't know that she disliked me already."

"Did you do anything to decrease her dislike for you? Like treating her nicely?"

"Why do you automatically assume that I treated her badly?"

"Because she wouldn't look like she swallowed a toad when she saw you, dummy," Nino reprimanded. "So, what did you do?"

"I did nothing!" Adrien said defensively. "Just teased her a bit."

"Right," Nino drew out the word. "And what did this teasing consist of?" His tone reminded Adrien of a scolding father.

"I take my words back," Adrien backtracked. "How about 'friendly banter?'"

Nino gave him a look.

"Just banter, then?"

His friend glared.

"I threatened to withhold my participation in the contest."

"Real smart."

"So she made me sign a contract where we had to act _professionally._ She's also made me set time apart just for her. "

"Seems like she can handle you pretty well." Nino nodded sagely. "You have met your match, young grasshopper, and there is only one person who could do that."

"Who?" Adrien was curious.

"Remember Alya?" He suddenly changed the subject.

"How could I not? You guys are going to be married in a month, and you're definitely not talking about her. Who is it?" he pressed.

Nino's face had once again moved sickeningly close to the camera, and he grinned, showing off his teeth to Adrien's disgust.

"Speaking of Alya, how is she?" Nino refused to broach the topic.

"Don't you speak to her all the time?" Adrien asked, deciding to go along with  flow. "In bed, during breaks, when you're sleeping, so shouldn't you have a better idea of what she's up to than I do?"

"Sure," Nino shrugged his shoulders. "But sometimes she hides some things from me. Like recently, when I was talking to her about being matched, she had this frown on her face, and when I asked her about it, she just said a friend had matching problems."

"Did she mention what type of matching problems?" Adrien didn't like that gleam in Nino's eye.

"Oh, just _complete and utter incompatibility_ with a guy, who  Alya says completely hates her."

"Er, why don't you just tell me her name?"

"Sure," Nino coughed before speaking. "But why don't we start with clues first? Ready, youngling?"

Adrien rolled his eyes. "As ready as I'll ever be, Master Nino."

"Alright then, young pupil." He made a drum roll sound, imitating it with his mouth. "First clue: She has dark hair and blue eyes."

"Plenty of people have dark hair and blue eyes." Adrien retorted. He frantically scrolled through his memories of Nino and Alya, desperately hoping that the girl in question wasn't Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He never wanted Nino to learn how Adrien had treated her.

He was aware that he had a darker side, and he often he showed it around people he didn't care about. Sometimes, he wondered if he didn't develop a split personality from being Adrien and Chat Noir, since the two characters were as different as night and day. Adrien was the handsome model with all he wanted in life, a boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The public knew Chat Noir as the charismatic flirt who saved Paris with Ladybug, but Adrien knew better.

Chat Noir was a soldier, a robot with a programmed mentality to take down akumas. Machiavelli would have approved of Chat Noir: the Miraculous holder fully felt that the ends justified the means. When he was younger, Adrien felt that Chat Noir was an outlet to express himself, and in a way, it was. However, as Adrien grew older, he learned that Chat Noir was yet another cage to trap himself in, another responsibility to fulfill, another hat to wear.

He also learned to conceal that part of himself around others. Normal people with normal lives had scruples, morals that Chat Noir often didn't share. Why not harm the akumatized person if Ladybug could fix everything afterwards? Surely he was allowed to release his frustration on victims who weren't going to remember anything after the akuma attack. Why shouldn't he destroy historical monuments that shaped countries? They were only bits of metal and stone.

Adrien sought to prevent Nino from learning about his alter ego, but sometimes Adrien slipped and the cracks in his personality were easy to see. Such as the meeting with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, for instance.

He shook himself out of his reverie, focusing on the screen in front of him. He shoved all thoughts of Chat Noir out of his head, and instantly feel himself revert to his happier, Adrien persona.

Nino grinned. "Next clue: She loves the color pink. How about it, young one? Does it ring a bell?"

Adrien shook his head. He didn't recall Marinette’s favorite color, but those sort of details weren't mentioned in the given profiles.

"Third one: she wants to be a fashion designer. And she's in college."

He shook his head again. Adrien was pretty sure Nino was toying with him at this point, but he didn't want to give Nino the satisfaction of knowing that he'd caused Adrien discomfort. So Adrien played along and pretended that he never met Marinette. It was childish, he knew, but everyone had their faults, and this was his.

"Fifth: she just entered a design contest."

"Must have been one of the others," Adrien commented. "There are about three contests going on right now."

"And one that just opened."

"Really?" Adrien affected an air of disinterest. "There are actually two." Let's see who cracks first.

Nino sighed. "She entered the contest you just agreed to participate in."

"The one my dad sponsors?"

Nino nodded rapidly. "And she's even assigned to the same session you went to."

"Oh, that must be Aurore." Adrien concealed his smirk when Nino groaned in frustration.

"No, dude, you don't get it. Aurore is a model, not a designer. Didn't I just say that Alya's friend was a designer?"

_Nino had cracked. Time to go in for the kill._

"Yes, and since you knew that Aurore is a model, you already talked to Alya, who wanted you to talk to me, to get my side of things with Marinette."

"Yeah, she did. Alya's a slave driver, I swear." Suddenly, Nino realized his slip. "I never said that."

"Either I was hallucinating or you were dreaming," Adrien retorted. He was about to continue when  Alya's face popped up over Nino's shoulder. "Damnit, Agreste, I want the details. Now."

"Alya?!" Adrien was furious. "Really, Nino? I thought you were still in Africa. I didn't sign up to a torture session captained by your girlfriend."

Nino looked sheepish. "Um, I mean-"

Alya cut him off as she whipped out her phone and put it on record. "Right, so first question, why do you hate Marinette so much?"

"Because she's an insufferable-" Too late, Adrien realized that he was answering the question. "Yeah, no, I'm not doing this." He glared at Nino. "What happened to friendship and loyalty?"

"About that," Nino shrugged. "I was curious."

"So, why don't you tell me about Marinette's side of things. Just so we're even." Adrien suggested, smiling wickedly.

Nino's eyes went wide. Alya snorted.  "As if." She ended the conversation by clicking on the small button on the right hand corner, and the screen went blank. Adrien stared, unable to believe his best friend had just tricked him like that.

He tried to call Nino, clicking Nino's call icon repeatedly. Nino refused to pick up, and after Adrien tried calling him for the fifth time, a new message popped up.

_The person you are trying to contact has logged out. Please try again later._

Nino was no doubt talking to Alya, who would then in turn talk to Marinette. The conversation would only reinforce Marinette's conviction that he loathed her.

Which, if he thought about it, wasn't completely true. The only thing he could remember disliking about her was her refusal to participate in the masquerade of a happy match. He was angry that she had seen through the smoke and mirrors, and instead of pretending that she could be happy with something fake, she wanted something real to build a marriage on. Something tangible, someone she could respect and love.

Adrien had never wanted the loveless marriage his parents had. His father and mother loved him dearly, but he seemed to be the only thing they could agree on. Otherwise, they worked against each other at every chance they got. Having started off on the wrong foot, and both having been on their last match, they married each other out of a sense of survival. His parents never did reconcile, both believing in the worst of one another.

His mother disappeared one day when Adrien was at school. He had come home to an empty house, which wasn't unusual at the time. It wasn't until after dinner that he had decided to alert his father to his mother's absence, since she was usually home at night. His father couldn't find her.

Investigations were conducted. Finally, the official story was that she had decided to move to another country, but the true story was that she had committed suicide. Adrien hadn't learned that until much later, but it would have explained his father's subsequent depression and haunted looks for years afterwards. Being nine at the time, he had originally thought that his father loved his mother, despite all their differences.

Now, he realized, his father had probably been sent into depression because of his mother's suicide, not because he valued her as a wife, but because he had made her life so unbearable that she was driven to kill herself. Gabriel Agreste saw himself as a monster in those years, and focused on his work instead. One of the unfortunate side-effects was his son becoming neglected.

Gabriel had never been close to his son; his wife, Evelyn, was the one who took care of Adrien. With Evelyn gone, the closest person Adrien had as a mother figure was Nathalie, his father's personal assistant. She was also the one who taught Adrien to conceal a cold personality with a charismatic one. Adrien had envied Nathalie's ability to be unaffected by anything, but he had also noticed how people tended to avoid her as a result of her robot-like emotions. Instead, he wore the coldness like an armor, with a false charming shell on the outside, both concealing the vulnerability he felt on the inside.

When Gabriel had next interacted with Adrien for an extended period of time, it had been to discuss his modeling contract, shortly after he graduated high school. His father had paused. "You seem different," he commented.

"People grow and change," Adrien replied. "Especially with time."

Gabriel had dropped the matter, but Adrien was sure he was still wondering where the eager, vivacious boy Adrien had been at nine had gone.

Now, all his father had now was a dead wife, a cold son, and a seemingly glamorous life as an internationally famous designer.

It wasn't a life Adrien wanted for himself, but it seemed that he had failed utterly in that regard, if he didn't fix the situation with Marinette first.

But how would he fix it? He could put on a charm and smile, he could pretend to be the perfect son. But from what he knew of Marinette, she would never want to sweep things under the rug. She had balked at a superficial marriage. She seemed like someone who would say things clearly, without double meanings or evasive methods.

In other words, Marinette wanted Adrien to open up to her. But, Adrien was afraid to let himself open up to his match. Who knew if she decided to hurt him once he was vulnerable? Adrien reminded himself that he had opened up to Nino, and look at how well that turned out. He now had a friend he could trust, someone he knew would support him through when he was going through difficult times.

Then again, he did sell me out to Alya.

Adrien smirked inwardly. Friends had their faults, but the benefits definitely outweighed the drawbacks.

He guessed that the fastest way back into Marinette's good books was with an apology. But, apologizing had never come naturally to him. Adrien knew he was proud, and he knew that he couldn't let that pride control him unless he wanted to end up like his father.

Perhaps a heartfelt statement about his idiocy would do the trick.

 

*******

 

Marinette's phone buzzed, shaking her out of the stupor she fell into on Friday afternoons. She had been brainstorming ideas for the contest, but her thoughts kept flitting back to Adrien. If she was being truthful with herself, she had been attracted to him, but that was before he opened his mouth. Marinette had a difficult time reconciling Adrien with Chat; a gentleman who was a scoundrel and a scoundrel who was a gentleman. Who would have known?

She hoped that the alert was a text from Alya, and a conversation with her best friend would have been just the thing she was looking for. Instead, she paled upon reading the message on her phone.

_Is it a good time for you to meet for the fittings?_

Was he insane? He couldn't expect her to have the prototypes done already. Models usually didn't have much contact with a designer's processes, but this assumption took the cake. Most designers took a week or two to solidify their designs, and even longer to start creating the prototypes.

She reminded herself to keep a professional attitude before responding. _I won't be done with the prototypes until at least two weeks later._

He replied promptly. _Perhaps seeing the model will help with the designs._

He did have a point. By examining her model up close, she would be able to see which types of clothes looked best.

 _Can I take you to some stores to see what looks best on you?_ Ridiculous, she knew, she should have already had an idea of what looked nice on him, but this was what her gut instinct told her to do. She'd learned from experience to trust them.

He spent a few more minutes to reply, as if mulling over her request. _I'm open to it. Can you meet me at Tom and Sabine's Bakery in ten minutes?_

She wondered over his odd choice of a meeting place. Why would he want to meet at her parents’ bakery? Besides, he was most likely on a strict diet. He probably couldn’t eat anything there.

 _Done._ She sent the text quickly, afraid that if she waited, she wouldn't have agreed.

Marinette debated over her clothing, wondering if jeans and a jacket were too casual. But then, why _was_ she worried about her clothing? It wasn't as if she as trying to impress anyone. Shaking the thought out of her head, she grabbed her rough designs. Searching for her purse, she called out, "I've got to meet Adrien at my parents' bakery. Tikki, do you mind?"

Her kwami popped out, holding a cookie in her hand.  "Not at all, Marinette. I hope this meeting goes well."

"Me, too." She sighed, and tried to push all thoughts of Adrien being Chat out of her mind. She would treat him coldly and professionally, without any of the camaraderie she and Chat shared.

After all, it wasn't as if he had earned her respect and trust to be treated that way.

Arriving at the bakery, she saw that Adrien was already there. He fidgeted slightly, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes were guarded, but when he saw her, a flicker of emotion passed through his face before his mask settled again. If she wasn't mistaken, he was uncomfortable at the sight of her. He was the one who suggested the meeting, so why should _he_ feel awkward?

"Thanks for agreeing to meet me at such a short notice," he said softly. She noticed that the usual bite was out of his words, and that he had toned down the usual intensity of his gaze.

"It wasn't a problem," she replied, her voice frosty. "It's always nice to see what fits the model's look the best, and work from there."

He nodded, not letting her cold tone affect him. "I know. You have no idea how many times my dad talks about the model fitting the look, and vice versa."

She laughed lightly, slowly warming up to him. "I can definitely relate. I've chosen the wrong model for my clothes several times, and the look was awkward at best."

Marinette smiled at him, a smile which he returned. Were they bonding over something?

"Let's go in," she held the door open for him.

He nodded his thanks and entered, Marinette following after him. "Is this your parents' bakery?"

"Yes."

"I figured." There was a moment of silence as he took in his surroundings. "Is there anything I should buy?"

"Well, beignets soufflés have been popular for years, and so have the chocolate croissants. But my personal favorites are the macarons."

She caught his disbelieving look. "Overrated, I know, but as a kid, I loved the crunch of the meringue, and the cream my mother made was heavenly. How could I not love them?"

"I think I'll try the macarons then, since you seem to swear by them. If they're as good as you say, then I'll be addicted to them within the first bite."

She shook her head. "The first look will have you salivating." Were they actually being civil for once?

He raised an eyebrow. "I'll take an assortment of three, then, just enough to sample a few." As he walked to the counter to order the macaroons, Marinette took in the bakery. She'd missed the atmosphere these last few years at school, and being at her childhood home set her at ease.

"Marinette! How are you?" Marinette spun around to see her mother greeting her with a hug. She smiled widely, and hugged her mother back.

"Good," she replied. "How are you?"

"I’m fine," Sabine replied. "But I'm more interested in you and in that young man over there."

"There's nothing going on between us," Marinette defended.

"Nothing to you, but that seems to be Adrien Agreste. Your new match?" Sabine looked at her daughter critically. "He's got a natural ease with you that I haven't seen your other matches have with you before."

"Mom, he hates me," Marinette retorted. "He just decided to be civil this time."

"From what I've seen, he likes you. His civility may not just be fluke," Sabine smiled. "He looks to be a keeper, that one. You better not let him get away."

"I won't, Mom," Marinette said. As if I could. Not with both of us being on our last match and all.

"He's coming this way. I better go." Sabine extracted herself from the conversation, heading towards the back to check on the pastry supply.

Adrien returned with the macaroons. "Your mother, I presume?" He nodded his head towards Sabine.

"Yes. Just the usual mother-daughter conversation you have. How are the macaroons?" She changed the subject. She didn't want to talk about how her mother insinuated that Adrien was the match for her.

"I haven't tried them yet." They headed towards the door, exiting the bakery. "They do look delicious, though."

He changed the subject. "There is something I want to talk to you about."

"What is it? Because if it's about the situation we're in, I think we're clear."

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Marinette winced. She _really_ didn't want to broach the topic of them being matched right now.

"I just wanted to say...that I...regret how I treated you during that first meeting."

Marinette raised her eyebrows. "Just the first? How about the second? And the third, this one right now?"

"I'm being _civil_ for the third," Adrien defended himself.

"Oh, as if that's a good enough excuse for your behavior," Marinette scoffed. "As if you could smooth over things but you still think that I'm a horrible person."

"I never said you were a horrible person," he snapped back. "Besides, I would have thought that your perception of me was even worse, just by how you're treating me right now."

They stared at each other, the sudden facade of civility gone. Then, Adrien seemed to deflate, calming down slightly.

"What I meant was," he paused.

"Yes?" Marinette was tapping her foot. "I'm waiting."

"I meant to say-" he glared at her foot. "Could you stop that? It's rude and annoying."

"Sorry," she snapped back. Her foot stopped.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for treating you as an obligation, that I blamed you when you didn't want a marriage based on lies."

"Well." She certainly wasn't expecting this. It definitely changed things, but she wasn't sure if they were meant to be matched with each other.

"I accept."

"Alright." Adrien nodded his head.

There was a pause, in which both tried to focus on their surroundings rather than each other. Marinette stared at the trees, wondering what to say.

"Which stores do you want to visit?" Marinette broke the silence, determined to get back to the matter on hand.

"I think evening wear would look best on you," she started, "and I've seen you mostly in photo shoots with sophisticated clothing and formal settings."

Adrien snorted. "That look _is_ popular now."

She knew what he was referring to. The broody, troubled handsome look had attracted her on more than one occasion when she was flipping through photos of Adrien's past modeling gigs. 

"Why don't we go to Les Galleries Lafayette?"

It was a legendary department store in Paris, with a large variety of fashionable clothing to suit each person, perfect to find clothes to fit a model's look.

He nodded. "Lead the way."

The trip, made on foot, was mostly silent. They occasionally commented on parts of Paris that stood close to their heart, but it wasn't until the fifth Ladybug poster they passed that Marinette made a comment.

"I wish people gave more significance to Chat Noir."

"Really?" Adrien was looking at her oddly, a bemused expression she'd only seen on Chat.

Who was Adrien.

The thought came rushing at her like a roaring train, shattering the peaceful moment she had. During the trip, she'd convinced herself that Adrien didn't hate her, that Adrien wasn't Chat, wasn't the boy she had strong feelings for. Wasn't the one she wanted to be matched to.

But he was, and he didn't need to know.

She frantically rushed to recover herself, throwing up her walls to conceal her temporary absence from this reality. "Yes. He's just as important as Ladybug is."

"But it's Ladybug who purifies the akuma, so shouldn't she deserve more importance?"

She stared at him. Did he really think so little of himself when he was Chat?

"But it's Chat who protects her, who helps her purify the akuma. Without Chat, she wouldn't be able to accomplish anything."

"He seems to be more of a hindrance than a help," he shook his head. "He constantly becomes controlled by akumatized villains, and a few times, the akuma nearly wasn't purified because of him."

"Ladybug becomes controlled by akumatized villains as well," Marinette retorted. "She _did_ flood the River Seine on Naturalist's orders."

"It was different," Adrien argued. "Chat didn't show up before she was akumatized. He could've prevented it if he wasn't tardy."

"Ladybug was akumatized several times even when Chat was _there,_ " Marinette stressed. "She makes mistakes too. She's only human."

Adrien shrugged. "So is Chat. But you don't see her making as many mistakes."

She wanted to growl with frustration. He had placed Ladybug on a pedestal so high that he couldn't even admit that she was flawed, like everyone else. Instead, he perceived her flaws as his own, taking responsibility for each mistake during akuma battles. It seemed impossible to change his views, and but she resolved to try. No one should have such low self-esteem of themselves.

But now wasn't the time to argue. They had arrived at Les Galleries Lafayette, and Marinette pulled the door open, gesturing Adrien inside.

"Let's get started."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, anyone? Any looks for Adrien you think Marinette should make him try out? What do you guys think of Adrien's change of POV?


	5. Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beta Yamina20 for editing this one and waiting for me to send it! This chapter would be much worse without Yamina20's input.
> 
> So...how's it going? I apologize for my long absence from this site. Due to interning and school, I didn't have much time to work on this. On the upside, there's a new chapter. However, I felt it was too long to read comfortably in one sitting, so please click the next button for the second half. Yes, I split in half. No, I cannot guarantee that there won't be a long break between updates, but I will be trying my best to update on a regular basis.
> 
> Fashion is not my strong point. What you see here is the result of research and ideas based on modern fashion trends.
> 
> Enjoy!

Marinette sat on a bench with her head down. She stared mindlessly at the bland carpet under her feet and wished she could disappear underground, free from her troubles.

What had she been thinking when she agreed to this trip?

They had been wandering around the shops for hours, trying on various outfits to help further Marinette's design ideas. It also helped to see what Adrien looked good in, so Marinette's designs could bring out the best physical aspects of him, so to speak.

They started with men's suits. Marinette gathered various styles, testing out lapel size, collar width, and knot type. Since the blonde tended to be washed out when dressed in lighter colors, she chose darker shades. A narrow fit tapering in at the waist accentuated his figure, dispelling the impression of the suit swallowing the model. Marinette preferred the buttoned collar with a loose knot, aiming to channel the rich and broody look Adrien had been sporting in photo shoots recently.

Two armfuls of suits that fit her own requirements later, she was ready to quit. How hard was it to dress a good looking person? In theory, they should look good in anything, right?

Wrong.

In the store lighting, she had a hard time determining the clothes' undertones. She often sent the wrong suit in to Adrien. Additionally, the color was an issue. Either the color was too light or too dark. The fit could be an inch off around the shoulders or two inches too close to his waist.

She'd worked her way through two stores until she found the perfect suit for him to wear-the shade was just right, the cut fit like it was specially tailored to bring out his best attributes.

When he stepped out in a steel-gray two-piece suit, a white collared dress shirt with the front unbuttoned, and a navy striped tie,she nearly cried with joy. The light glinted off of his hair, hinting at the angel on the surface, but the unbuttoned dress shirt indicated the bad boy persona lurking inside. Even Marinette, in her frazzled state, could tell that Adrien was attractive.

She snapped her mouth shut to prevent the drool from leaking out while frantically wiping at her eyes to conceal her tears of joy.

She had finally achieved what she wanted: a design to help further her ideas and one that would be stunning on Adrien. Models couldn't make bad clothing look good, they could only elevate good clothing. The suit she found would definitely win the competition if she were to design it...

She reminded herself to snap out of her trance. Sure, the suit was stunning, and the fact she was desperately trying (and failing) to hide her drool were points in the suit's favor, but she had to see it as a judge first.

Sadly, it failed to impress her once she stepped into Gabriel Agreste's shoes. The hackneyed theme conveyed the designer's inability to change and adapt to the times. Marinette sighed, realizing that she would have to experiment with other ideas.

She looked down at her notes, covered as they were in rough sketches, and pondered that a different theme would be better. Drawing inspiration from a sketch design of floral pants, she debated about dressing Adrien in a more feminine light.

Inspiration and a chance to make him squirm. Two birds with one stone.

She grinned, her mind made up. Marinette quickly selected a few feminine articles of clothing, handing them to Adrien.

"Are you sure you didn't make a mistake?" His voice rose. "The last time I checked, I was a guy."

"Trust me," she said through the curtain. Well, he certainly didn't have much reason to trust her, but she was a designer. And designers did crazy things.

She heard him take an exasperated breath, followed by several muttered curse words. A few moments of huffing later, the sounds of rustling fabric told her that he was changing. Marinette waited on bouncing toes for him to come out.

He stepped out in a plunging blood red gown, his face wearing a look of distaste. He turned around to stare down at the silky layers falling to the floor, the dress clinging to his every curve.

I knew he'd look good.

"I know you find me attractive, but I don't think this shows off any of my assets." Adrien picked at dress. "There's even a pocket of fabric here for my nonexistent cleavage."

Marinette snapped a few pictures and jotted down notes, particularly focusing on how the clinging fabric softened his sharp lines. "Right. Go back and change, then come out," she instructed.

He grumbled, but did as he was told. Rustle, rustle. In, out. In, out. Marinette was dizzy and tired from watching him change, and Adrien wasn't any better. He grumbled less, fidgeted less, and took clothing without complaint. He even stopped with the sarcastic comments.

After the dresses came sweaters. It was a limitless changing session, Marinette piling mountains of clothes into Adrien's waiting arms, and Adrien changing as quickly as he could. Skirts. Blouses. Jeans. Slacks. Shorts. Polos.

By the end of the session, she amassed a large collection of photos, featuring Adrien wearing nearly every outfit she could imagine. Satisfied, she returned the clothes to the entrance of the dressing rooms, and stumbled out of the Galleries, Adrien in tow.

"Thank you," she said, once they were surrounded by the cool night air. "For sticking through a whirlwind of a changing session."

Adrien shrugged. "It was going to happen anyway. Better sooner than later."

Even though he said he understood, Marinette still felt guilty. He had stuck through, even though some of the clothing choices were meant to make him squirm, withholding his most biting comments as well. "I definitely owe you one," she muttered. "Is there anything you need help with that needs a designer's touch?"

Adrien's eyes glinted. "Well, I was thinking...I want to be Chat Noir."

"Are you kidding me?" Marinette deadpanned, staring at Adrien. The model wanted to try on a Chat Noir costume. Why would he want to try on a Chat Noir costume, especially if he thought so little of the cat?

"Dead serious." He shot her a cheeky smile. "I think you've got enough notes for the day, anyways."

And she thought him too tired to be infuriating. Apparently not.

"You don't even like Chat Noir." She protested.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to be him." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I saw an adult-sized costume by the entrance of the Galleries."

"You're over six feet. I don't think the costume would even fit." Why did he want to dress up as himself anyways?

"I saw one that will." He smirked, turning his hand so that the ring glinted in the light.

She frowned. He was so odd. She couldn't understand him and his mood swings. First, he wanted to apologize, then help her with the contest, and now he wanted to play dress-up when Halloween was a month away.

Was he dressing up to hint at himself being Chat Noir, or did he just want someone to stroke his ego? She knew that Chat had been quite egotistical in his younger years, but his arrogance had decreased as they grew up. Did he want to return to his childhood, or was this some display of male arrogance that she had never noticed Chat had?

"Why do you need me there?"

"I need to know how good it looks on me," he replied. "Models don't look good in everything, despite popular opinion."

She did owe him something.

She shrugged. "Let's go then." She held open the door, ushering Adrien into open space of the mall. "Hurry."

"I knew you'd be convinced."

"I don't want to leave you here, not knowing how good you look in a superhero costume. You're a twenty-one year boy, for God's sake."

"How do you know my exact age?"

Before she could reply, his face twisted into a mocking manner of its usual self. "Oh, right, you read everything in the profile. Or were you so interested in my modeling that you visited one of the many fan websites?"

Her jaw dropped open. "I am not one of your ridiculous fangirls." Granted, she did go on a fan-made site, but for research purposes only.

"I bet Chat Noir would have so many more," he mused.

Marinette's head whipped around at the abrupt change in topic. "Fans?"

"Chat Noir would be loved by all," he said, turning into the store that sold the Chat Noir costume.

"I thought you didn't like Chat Noir."

"I am only one in a million. You should see the gifts people give him at gatherings."

"I remember girls offering him dates," Marinette commented dryly. A few years ago, a young girl had shyly asked Chat Noir out on a date. He had smiled and declined politely, but had accepted the rose she offered. His fans had accepted then that Chat Noir took date requests, and the lines of fans after akuma attacks made Chat's escape from the crime scene even longer than usual.

"And Ladybug gets even more," Adrien commented. "I wonder how she feels."

Marinette knew how Ladybug felt. Annoyed and oddly flattered, but disappointed because the one person she wanted to date had gotten over his schoolboy crush years ago.

"Please, try on your costume so we can leave," Marinette waved a hand at the costume shop. "Go ahead, I'm sure there are sizes that will fit your frame."

"Gladly." He disappeared into the racks, his blond head bobbing as he searched for a costume. "Found one!"

"Go put it on!" Marinette shooed him into the dressing room. She heard a few hops and jumps, several muttered swear words, and something that sounded suspiciously like a squeal.

She filed away that squeal for future reference.

Marinette tapped her foot impatiently, checking the clock. She scanned the designs in her mind, silently creating a to-do list once she got home. Call Alya, create designs, steal some music mixes from Nino for inspiration...

How long did it take him to change?

Knowing Adrien, he'd want to be perfect as well. Models. Or maybe it was just an Adrien thing.

She decided to kill time by searching for her own costume. Interestingly enough, there just so happened to be a Ladybug ensemble in her size.

Idly wondering how a Ladybug costume would look on her, she shrugged and snagged it off the rack and headed to a fitting room to change. You never know until you try.

The costume wasn't bad, but it definitely didn't capture the essence of Ladybug. Marinette felt odd standing there, pretending to be herself. So she shrugged the costume off and replaced it on the rack, just in time to see Adrien as Chat Noir.

"Not bad," he declared, stepping out behind the curtain. "See, it wasn't a waste of time after all."

His blond hair swept over his forehead, as if he'd managed to free it from its helmet of hairspray. Green eyes glanced at her, the sclera white. Black cat ears, soft as velvet, stood up from his hair.

As her gaze moved down his body, she narrowed her eyes. Attachable gloves with shiny nails made life easier for the cosplayer. From what she could see of the fabric, it seemed to be a cotton-polyester blend, perfect for machine washes. A plastic baton rested on his hip.

"Not too bad yourself," She smirked. Marinette pointed at his ring finger where there seemed to be a lump. "Can I ask why you decided to wear your ring under your suit this time? Or were you trying to stand out by being exceptionally bad?"

He snorted. "And you said you weren't a fangirl."

"Excuse me?" Did he just imply that she was a fan? She liked Chat, but that didn't mean that she was a fangirl. It simply meant that she admired his work ethic and his conversational skills. The fact that he was easy on the eyes only increased her infatuation. Besides, she was matched to Chat because Adrien was Chat, so she couldn't be blamed for staring at countless videos of him on news media. And buying most of his fan gear. And dressing up as Chat Noir for Halloween.

Actually, she was a fangirl.

"Excuse me?" A girl tapped Marinette's arm. "It's almost closing time, but we stay open for another ten minutes."

Marinette nodded. "Thanks. We should be out in five."

She turned around to glare at Adrien. "Are you done having fun? I'd like to go home now."

He glanced at her. "I'd like to buy this costume. It won't kill you to wait a while." He strode over to the cashier, black costume in tow.

"I'd like to buy this, please." He gave the girl a small smile. "I'm sorry for keeping you late, but you know how superhero costumes are alluring."

The girl nodded, focused on the till. "Halloween shopping is common around this time of year. What made you choose Chat Noir?"

"There's a girl I want to impress," he grinned.

"Oh? And you think that the dark and broody look will get her?" The girl's voice held a tinge of laughter.

"Of course. Fashion does tend to lead the way in all things."

"Best of luck to you, then," She gathered up the costume and folded it into a shopping bag. "Will that be cash or credit, sir?"

As Adrien handed over his credit card, Marinette turned away from the conversation. It hurt her that Adrien was acting like the charismatic Chat she knew with a stranger, and she longed to feel the old connection with him again outside of the mask. She knew it was impossible, so why did she feel tempted to break out the catnip and watch Adrien chase after it?

Chat had done that the last time she had brought catnip to patrol. He'd admitted to her that cat tendencies affected him, ranging from a sudden liking of raw fish to cat toys. She'd replied that she ate aphids when she was annoyed.

They'd shared a laugh over that.

She knew why she was feeling bereft of something. Marinette wanted the camaraderie she and Chat shared, that friendship and loyalty created from years of working together to protect Paris. She wanted to tell Adrien that she knew he was Chat, but that would have a slim chance of working out. He'd probably force her to transform to admit it, and besides, even if he was her match, the less people who knew about her civilian identity, the better.

She was beginning to feel that Adrien and Chat were two very different people, and she only trusted one of them. Sadly, her future husband was not that person.

Technically, he was, but at this stage in the game, it didn't matter. Just because she wanted their dynamic didn't mean that under any circumstances she could tell him that she was Ladybug; he needed to discover that himself when he was ready, and he was nowhere close. He still placed Ladybug on a ridiculously high pedestal that could rival the Eiffel Tower, refusing to admit that she had flaws. Marinette, on the other hand, was roughly thirty feet underground, with enough character shortcomings to fill the Seine.

It only reminded her to keep her identity and her discovery to herself.

"See you next Tuesday, then?" Marinette asked, once they were out of the store.

Adrien nodded. "I'll text you if something comes up."

They parted ways at a crossroad.

Marinette fought not to stare as Adrien walked away.

LINE BREAK

She doodled furiously, pencil marks scratching the paper, dotting small holes all over. Growling in frustration, she ripped out the page and threw it towards the trash can in the corner, hoping to top the pile in the overflowing bin.

It didn't make the bin. The slip of paper floated calmly in the air, gently settling down on the ground. She picked it up, crumpled it, and threw it again.

The ball landed with a satisfying plop. She smiled, then returned to sketching.

It was blank. Not a single thing. It had been three days since her trip with Adrien, and she was fast approaching the suspicion that she was suffering from a creative block. Her pencil froze in her hand, and just as she was about to take her rage out on the stick of wood too, Chat Noir raced past her window.

Patrol! She thought. Her mind flickered back and forth, debating on if she could skip this one. She was frustrated, and if she went out now, she would probably snap at people for the most ridiculous reasons. But there was always patrol on Mondays, since akumas tended to appear on the first day of the work week (Alya had analyzed akuma appearances and Mondays topped the list).

She picked herself up with a sigh, set her pencil down, and muttered the phrase that transformed her into Ladybug.

Nothing. It had always worked, even when Tikki wasn't around. And Tikki was most definitely snoozing next to her. Maybe Tikki had to be awake?

She shook her kwami gently. "Tikki, wake up," she whispered. She felt bad for disturbing Tikki-her kwami definitely needed her sleep after constantly powering the Ladybug suit-but she had to go. And if the puff of smoke and subsequent boom was any indication, there was an akuma on the loose.

She shook the kwami gently. Tikki was breathing in small, light snores, gentle puffs of air brushing Marinette's face as she exhaled.

"Tikki, there's coffee!" Her kwami had taken to the drink like a duck to water. Any mention of it would have Tikki lugging her favorite mug to the coffee machine. Marinette had even tempted Tikki with it in the middle of the night and she had popped up, already zooming in circles around Marinette's head.

She didn't wake. Marinette felt a cold hand slowly clutch her heart, tendrils of fear spreading within Marinette. Was there something wrong with Tikki? Tikki hadn't mentioned anything about being sick, and if she was, she usually started showing signs of it a few hours before.

She had seemed alright today. The kwami was less energetic than usual, but that was to be expected from the late night the kwami had yesterday-she and Chat Noir's kwami had met up for their weekly chats, which had been going on ever since Marinette became Ladybug.

It wasn't time to debate about such things now. She had to get the kwami to the doctor. If she remembered correctly, he lived on the street next to her middle school, which was twenty minutes away-by bike. Marinette glanced at the clock. 9:10 PM pulsed in blocky red numbers. She felt a moment of apprehension, then pushed the feeling aside, reminding herself that Tikki was more important than any random thief on the streets. Besides, she'd picked up a few of Ladybug's moves over the years, and the various self-defense classes she took ensured that she could protect herself, if need be.

Rushing, Marinette scooped Tikki into her purse, nestling the kwami with a cashmere scarf. She scooped up her keys and her helmet, locked the door to her apartment, and retrieved her bicycle from where it stood outside the door. As she tapped her foot impatiently for the elevator to arrive, she worried that Chat might be put off by her late arrival. Hopefully, he had already started patrolling.

She jumped in through the doors, nervous energy rushing through her system. The minute the doors opened, she barreled through with all the force of a racehorse. Hopping onto her bike, she pedaled furiously through the streets of Paris, earning her fair share of complaints.

"Hey!"

"How dare you!"

"Stay in line, little girl!"

"Who do you think you are?!"

"You nearly ran me over!"

In her defense, the last one was yelled by a person who was walking in the bike lane. What did he expect, that she would actually bike slowly just so he could get a kick out of breaking the rules?

"Sorry!" she yelled over her shoulder, turning her head to make sure that he wasn't running after her to seek revenge (people were unpredictable at night). As she turned to face the front again, she caught a glimpse of a black shadow leaping across buildings, following her path.

Chat Noir.

She groaned internally. One of the jobs for patrol was to prevent any trouble-making in the streets, and in her desperation to seek medical help for Tikki, she had forgotten one of the most basic rules in Paris-don't create trouble; it would only lead to either being akumatized or landing prime time with the local law enforcement. If she was lucky, then Ladybug or Chat Noir would be there. If she wasn't, she would be detained for quite a while.

She assumed that Chat was following her to find an alleyway where he could stop her or try to prevent her from creating more disturbances in busy streets. It was his usual routine.

Just as she predicted, the black cat dropped in front of her as soon as she turned into a narrow street off the main road. She sighed as she stopped the bike, wincing at the smell burning rubber from the sudden stop.

"I noticed that you have been disturbing Parisian streets," Chat Noir began. "Could you pedal more slowly? Paris is crowded, and with your speed, it would be easy to injure others."

She pasted on a serious expression. "I'm sorry. I'll go more slowly."

He sighed. "Thanks. Don't forget, your safety is most important, even if you think something else is."

She nodded. "I'll remember." As soon as he was gone, she let her face break into a wide smile. Somehow, seeing him act so seriously always amused her, since he was always so playful around Ladybug. It was good to see him doing his job though. On the other hand, the warning was no laughing matter. She knew that he would detain her if she disturbed the streets again, so she took care to keep within decent speed limits as she pedaled through backstreets and alleyways to reach the kwami doctor's house.

After parking the bike, she knocked on the door in a series of quick raps. As she waited for the doctor to open the door, she reviewed the sign above the shop, taking in the line of Chinese characters under the row of French. She spoke Mandarin well enough at home, where her mother insisted on knowing enough Mandarin to converse with her grandparents, but she had put minimal effort into her Chinese class at school, feeling that a language she only used at home had no use in daily life. She had forgotten most of the written language by the end of high school.

Now, she regretted her lack of effort, because once she moved out of the bakery and away from her mom's cooking, she realized that most of the dishes she enjoyed could only be made with ingredients found in Asian food stores. Worse, she had forgotten how to read Chinese characters, and only recognized the ingredients in spoken Mandarin, not French. It would be awkward to ask a store employee to guide her around weekly, so she gave up on frequenting Asian grocery stores, only braving the experience once in a while to buy a childhood treat.

She also regretted it because she was quite sure that the row of Chinese characters on the kwami doctor's storefront held a few secrets that the French couldn't reveal to her-the French only stated something about massage therapy. Hopefully, the Chinese had something about kwamis. She hoped. Knowing her luck, it would only say something like Fu's Massage.

The curtain shifted, and an old man dressed in a loud Hawaiian print shirt peered at her. Recognition flashed in his eyes, and he moved to open the door. He gestured at her to come in, the door creaking slightly when he opened it. She stepped inside carefully, trying not to disturb the room. As she toed off her shoes (she noticed he was wearing indoor slippers), he motioned for her to step into another pair of the same slippers he wore.

"Welcome," he began. "I assume your cat is sick again?"

Marinette nodded. "Yes. I know it's late, but would you please heal her? No one else can do it."

"Come." He gestured for her to follow him, and they padded silently to the room where he had previously healed Tikki.

They sat down, and Master Fu placed Tikki on a pillow. He produced a giant gong, and swung it over Tikki's head a few times, while gently tapping Tikki's head. A few minutes passed, and Marinette wondered about the difference between this and other treatments. The doctor had always healed Tikki by banging the gong a few times. Was something severely wrong with Tikki?

He had started to move his finger in a circular motion over Tikki's dots. A small crackling sound could be heard, and flashes of light sparked between the doctor's finger and Tikki's spots. Suddenly, with a loud bang, the gong flew out of the doctor's hand. He fell back with a cry, his hair standing up on its ends. Other than being covered in soot, Tikki seemed to be fine.

Marinette hurried to help the old man up. "Are you alright?" she asked, as she gripped his hand.

"I'm fine," he wheezed. "She just took me by surprise, that's all." He brushed his hair back into order.

"Wayzz?" he called.

A green turtle kwami materialized. "Master?"

"Bring Chat Noir here. Touching his ring should do the trick." The green kwami rushed off, phasing through the window.

The doctor was obviously a kwami holder; it would explain why he never questioned her. It would also explain how he knew to heal Tikki, and why Tikki directed her here. But why did he never reveal himself to her?

She realized something more pressing. "Excuse me, sir, but Chat Noir doesn't know who I am."

The doctor's head raised in surprise. "You haven't shared your identities yet?"

Marinette shook her head. "No, not yet."

"I assume you want to conceal yourself then?"

Marinette nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, if you have something."

The doctor walked out of the room and returned with a mask. "Wear this."

She took it, noting its red and black-spotted design, and pulled it over her head. "Thanks."

"Now, we wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, anyone? Or you can just click the Next button. Either is fine.


	6. A Fine Institution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shoutout to Yamina20 for her beta-ing! Enjoy!

Before Wayzz appeared, it had been a fairly normal night. He had suited up for patrol and bounded across the rooftops, reveling in the cool air brushing past his face. Chat could feel himself slipping into the soldier aspect of his personality, and he fought to stay in control of the lighter, happier Adrien. He didn't want to appear devilish to any of the civilians he would be reprimanding tonight-seeing a coldly logical superhero was not the way to win over civilians.

He had showed the Mr. Hyde of himself to Marinette in an attempt to drive her away, which was quite idiotic, now that he thought about it. She could have left him, but fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, they were stuck together.

It didn't seem so bad at certain times, like the shopping trip they had a few days back. He admired her determination to find the perfect outfit; his own arms and legs ached that night from the trip and _he_ worked out constantly. He also liked her ability to view things objectively. Adrien had seen the drool when he stepped out in that gray suit, but had also seen the analytical look when she judged the clothing based on her own merit. Marinette had scrapped her previous ideas and decided to dress him in feminine clothing, much to his own disgust. He had shuddered when she handed him that first dress.

And after the trip? That Chat Noir costume was definitely something. As juvenile as it sounded, he couldn't wait to be himself for Halloween. It had also been his plan to dress up as himself, but dragging his match along for the ride gave him an opportunity watch her squirm the way she made him felt with all those dresses.

He knew she was confused about why he wanted to be Chat Noir when he told her that Chat Noir was much less worth than Ladybug. Adrien did believe that Ladybug was better than Chat Noir, but not to the extent he told Marinette. Faking a dislike of the superhero made it less likely for others to suspect him to be Chat, and Adrien had used the tactic successfully in several occasions on perceptive fans. As far as he knew, Master Fu was the only other person who knew Chat's civilian identity.

Just then, he spotted a girl riding a bike, racing around on Parisian streets. A slew of insults followed her, and he knew he had to stop her before she caused some sort of trouble. Hopping down, he noticed that the girl...was _Marinette?_ He choked back laughter as he watched her glare venomously at someone who was standing in the bike lane. Strangely, he didn't want to reprimand her, but he had to.

A brief exchange later, he was back racing across buildings. The exchange hadn't taken long, much to his relief.

Chat decided to stop on an isolated warehouse to gain a better view of Parisian civilians when Wayzz came flying up to him.

"Master Fu would like you to come," the kwami intoned, his face a mask of worry. He touched the ring, conveying his intentions. The paw print flashed with Plagg's acknowledgement.

A late night meeting? It wouldn't be the first one, but it would definitely be the first time he had to leave patrol early for. He hoped Ladybug would understand. When he had arrived late, he assumed that Ladybug had already left, as she was wont to do on occasion when time was tight.

Chat patted his shoulder, indicating for Wayzz to sit while Chat brought them to Master Fu's house. The kwami accepted gratefully, already exhausted from exerting its magical energy to locate Chat.

While Chat leaped among the buildings, he let his body move on its own while his mind contemplated why Master Fu would want him now. Did Master Fu summon him to another impromptu training session, or did he want to discuss more of the lore regarding the Miraculous? Chat's eyebrows knit in confusion. What would be so important that Master Fu would call a meeting now?

He rolled through the window a minute later, taking care to tuck his head, which Master Fu said always stuck out too much. "Master Fu?"

"Chat, please sit down. We have some things to talk about." Master Fu looked weary. Chat glanced around the room, noting the red and black kwami on the pillow, and the girl with the red and black mask.

Ladybug? He glanced at her suspiciously before sitting down. Just who was this girl?

"A few ground rules first. My name is Master Fu. I will be referring to both of you as Ladybug and Chat Noir. It would be unwise of me to address both of you by your civilian identities since you have not revealed yourselves to each other. Second, listen to what I say. The circumstances are more dire than I could have thought."

Dire circumstances? It must have something to do with the kwami. Perhaps that would explain why the Ladybug wasn't transformed. He still doubted that she was Ladybug. From his point of view, she looked more like a certain biker who had caused havoc in Parisian streets. But people looked different in and out of the suit. He himself could attest to that.

"I am the holder of the turtle Miraculous, which makes me the guardian of all of the Miraculous. As such, my abilities pertain to the protection of the Miraculous and their kwami. It also means that I am the one who gives them to the holders."

Chat lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Ladybug-he was going to think of the girl as Ladybug to prevent confusion- hadn't visited Master Fu before? He himself had been learning under the tutelage of the guardian ever since Master Fu healed his injuries from a particularly nasty akuma attack a few years back.

"Now, as you know, Tikki is the kwami of good luck or fortune, while Plagg is the kwami of bad luck or misfortune. It doesn't mean that if you're the holder of Tikki's Miraculous, you'll get good luck, and if you're the holder of Plagg's Miraculous, you'll get constant bad luck." He shook his head. "If life worked that way, we wouldn't be here."

Ladybug was listening intently. She tilted her head in the way that usually meant she had questions, and by the way her nose was scrunching up, she was itching to ask.

"It simply means that your powers pertain to good or bad fortune. It also means that your kwamis thrive off the good or bad luck in their surroundings. Say you had a particularly good week. Things just happened to work in your favor. Tikki would thrive off of the good luck surrounding you, and may be stronger as a result. Plagg, on the other hand, would become weaker, because of the lack of bad luck."

"Then why did my luck change after I became Ladybug?" Ladybug interjected. "How come I had more good weeks?"

Her voice sounded different, but that was expected. People often spoke differently while in different roles, especially if they felt uncomfortable or scared.

Master Fu sighed. "That is the most common question I have received. We will get there."

He continued. "However, just because your kwamis thrived on good or bad luck doesn't mean that they have the power to manipulate your experiences to their tastes. So, after getting the Miraculous, you shouldn't have had more good weeks or bad weeks than you have had before. This does not mean you can't experience the placebo effect."

He tilted his head in Ladybug's direction. "You thought that since you had the Ladybug Miraculous, you would be luckier."

Ladybug nodded.

"I'm guessing that you felt more confident as well?"

She nodded again, a quick dip of her head.

"Tikki didn't manipulate your situations to be luckier for you. Your own confidence brought about the positive changes in your life."

Chat rose an eyebrow in surprise. "I thought kwamis were something similar to gods though? Shouldn't they be all powerful then?"

"I introduced them as gods to you to help you accept them more easily. In a sense, they are gods, just not the traditional gods known in popular culture. They were first seen in ancient China, and bound themselves to several articles to ensure that they could stay on earth. In doing so, they sealed away a large amount of power, and a large part of themselves as a result."

That would make much more sense. Although, it was interesting that he had never learned of this. But, Master Fu had only focused on the kwamis' abilities, instead of their origins.

"We dedicated ourselves to helping humanity," Wayzz spoke crisply. "We chose our powers to best suit our personalities, but in doing so, we left ourselves vulnerable. As such, we rely on sustenance and care."

Master Fu cleared his throat. "Tikki has gone into a state of extended hibernation, due to the lack of luck in your life."

"Are you saying that the lack of luck in my life is what caused Tikki to fall ill?"

"Yes. Do you recall a lack of luck in your life? It could also be a lack of good fortune."

Ladybug snorted, rolling her eyes. "Yeah. My love life."

It must have been her match, with whom she didn't get along with. Chat wondered idly who it could be.

"Anything particular about your love life?"

"How specific do I need to go for you to diagnose the problem?"

"Quite specific, I'm afraid."

There was a pause before Ladybug spoke. "I'm stuck on my last match. We mutually loathe each other, and since he's on his last match too, we're stuck together if we want to live well. I'm also in a fashion contest, in which he's participating in, and my success depends on his willingness to work with me. And to top it off, I _need_ to place in this contest if I want to make a splash in the fashion world. The doors that would open for a winner of Gabriel Agreste's contests provide many opportunities."

_Marinette Dupain-Cheng?!_ Chat's thoughts skidded to a halt. _She_ was Ladybug? But...but...Ladybug was so perfect! Marinette was so...so...well, he didn't know how to describe her. Certainly not insufferable, but not quite likable. He supposed the word he was looking for was _respectable._ But that was beside the point. The problem was that the love of his life was _sitting_ not three feet away and she _loathed_ him because he completely _ruined_ everything by being cold on the first meeting. He buried his head into his hands with a groan. This was a disaster.

"There we go," Master Fu said smoothly. "Problems in your love life seem to be the answer. But it doesn't seem quite as bad as the other circumstances. I wonder if there's anything else?"

This jumbled up thought thing in his brain would not do. Ever the quintessential solder, compartmentalized his thoughts, and pushed at his brain to get moving. It would never do to be caught unaware. He caught Master Fu's sly glance towards him, and instantly regretted telling the guardian all about his own love life the day before.

If he knew anything about his teacher, Chat could expect a variety of jokes over the next month. Hell, Master Fu would probably throw in a few ship names as well. One should never underestimate the ability of a Miraculous guardian to become a fervent fan of unlikely pairings.

Marinette grumbled. "The guy I like used to like me, and when he doesn't like me anymore, I started to like him."

Maybe she would give him another chance once she knew of his superhero identity?

She continued. "Worse, I know I'm matched to him, but he's like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Mr. Hyde seems to be his default setting when I'm around."

_She knew? How did she know? Why was he so blind?_ Suddenly, her behavior the other night made sense. After measuring him with her yo-yo, her measurements must have corresponded with the measurements she took in class, and the lack of green-eyed blond models in Paris must have alerted her to his identity. Sometimes, he regretted being so good-looking. It made him far too easy to identify.

He felt his ring heat up, the green spots flickering rapidly. He gestured to his ring. "Master Fu, if you mind?"

"Not at all."

Chat ran into the bathroom, anticipating the flash of light that accompanied the de-transformation. After listening to the entirety of the conversation, Plagg was itching to get out of the ring. Chat didn't blame him; if his own hypothetical sibling was sick, he'd want to join in on the conversation as well.

The kwami materialized into the air, his green eyes snapping with fury. Adrien gently cupped Plagg in his hands. "Camembert afterwards, remember?" Adrien willed for Plagg to rein in his temper; kwamis often set off fiery explosions from strong outburst of emotion. He would prefer Plagg to not yell at Marinette, but it had to be done. Both parties were frustrated and angry, and their fight would be conducive to releasing their pent-up emotions.

The kwami nodded stiffly. "I promise I won't give her too harsh of a beating." He turned around and smirked. "Well, I'll keep the explosions to the minimum."

Adrien opened the door and watched the fight begin.

Plagg zoomed in crazy circles around the room, eventually stopping in front of Marinette.

"You!" the kwami snapped. "It's your fault my sister's sick. If you _could've seen_ what's right under your nose, she would still be up and running!"

"It's not my fault I've got a lack of luck in my love life, Plagg! And what do you mean, what was right under my nose? The only thing I see now is a kwami with a penchant to yell at his sister's partner!"

"That's not what I meant, you pesky bug! If you could have seen that Chat liked you all along-"

She snorted. "I'm not blind, Plagg! He doesn't; it's called unrequited love for a reason. And even though I dislike Adrien, I can work with him. Bad luck doesn't mean you can't make something good out of it!"

"Tikki needs this to go one way! The ladybug always marries the cat. But due to this stupid Spousal Act and the fact that you're as blind as a bat, nothing is happening!"

"Haven't you heard of exceptions? And besides, what makes you think that I want to marry him? Don't I have a choice in all of this?"

"No!" Plagg snarled. "You don't!"

They glared at each other, incensed. Marinette stared into Plagg's furious green eyes, and if looks could kill, they'd both be dead twice over.

_Ouch._ So she didn't want to marry him. He knew it was a possibility, but being told that without any sugar coating...well, he couldn't deny that it hurt. But, it wasn't unjustified either. Adrien curled up within himself, tugging the costume's ears over his head, willing himself to calm down.

"And that is precisely why you two weren't matched together." Master Fu's amused voice cut through the silence. "I considered the idea, but when I realized that Ladybug was just as stubborn, if not more so, than Plagg, the pairing would've been a disaster."

Marinette and Plagg remained glaring at each other, both refusing to budge.

At long last, Master Fu cleared his throat. "Now, if you two would relax, I think we can resolve this in a calmer manner."

Small black dots were popping off of the kwami's body, indicating an imminent kwami explosion. Adrien signed and held a wedge of Camembert cheese in the air, hoping that food would calm the kwami down.

"C'mon, Plagg, you need to recharge."

"Not until I deal with this bug," the kwami growled.

"A whole wheel of Camembert," Adrien volleyed back, knowing that the kwami couldn't resist.

"Aged 24 months, in a wooden casing, sold from that vendor with the red and white stall."

" _Two_ wheels of Camembert from the vendor in the blue stall."

It was cheaper, but Adrien was relying on Plagg's greed for quantity over quantity.

"Done." Plagg spoke. He moved away from Marinette and perched on Adrien's shoulder, nibbling on the wedge of cheese Adrien handed to him. Adrien turned away and plucked Plagg from his shoulder, consoling his kwami with soft words, handing him bits of Camembert all the while.

* * *

Marinette yearned badly for Tikki in that moment. "Master Fu, when can you heal Tikki?"

Master Fu sighed. "We can revive her temporarily, but she must come for frequent treatments unless the fortune in your life increases. We should revive Tikki now; she is a large factor in these discussions."

He picked up the gong and motioned to Plagg. "I need you to control the release of magical power. She set off quite a bang last time."

As he repeated the previous ritual, swinging the gong and moving his hand in circular motions, Plagg sat by. The sound was soothing, and Marinette closed her eyes to stabilize her roiling emotions.

Chat liked her all this time? To believe it would mean to trust Plagg, and the kwami didn't inspire a feeling of goodwill in her. But Plagg had seemed angry enough to tell the truth; she knew she didn't have a filter during their spat. Which meant that he had liked her even when she began liking him. It seemed that her unrequited love _was_ returned.

She never knew. But even if she had known, she never would have pursued him. The Spousal Act would have prevented her even if she wanted to. But a twist of fate had somehow paired them together, and if Chat hadn't said that line during patrol last week, she wouldn't have known.

She didn't know how to reconcile Chat and Adrien. He managed to be two different people living in the same body. The snark he showed was definitely something, but she wasn't much better, volleying back her own retorts and throwing in a few jabs of her own. He had apologized during the shopping trip, and he was civil during the remainder of the trip, whereas she still treated him with hostility.

She owed him an apology. A big one, with catnip and macaroons. And even a few plushies. She vowed to find the softest cat toy in all of Paris, if need be.

Sparks began to flash between Tikki's spots and Master Fu's finger, catching Marinette's eye. She turned her attention back to Master Fu, curious about the procedure.

"Plagg, now." Master Fu commanded.

Plagg was a black blur as he moved from Adrien's shoulder to Tikki's side. He opened his mouth and _inhaled_ the bits of energy, swelling in the process. Plagg seemed to shimmer, his fur becoming shinier and his eyes greener.

Master Fu set the gong down. "We have extracted the misfortune surrounding her. It was a taxing procedure for her as well as for us. Now, all we can do is wait."

The room was silent with bated breath. A minute passed, then two. There was no movement. Then, a weak cough. Another cough. Tikki slowly opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. She sat up, her antennas drooping. As they slowly retained their curved nature, she shook her head a few times. When she spotted Marinette by her side, her eyes widened in joy.

"Marinette!"

"Tikki!" Marinette cupped Tikki in her hands, hugging her as best as she could. "I'm so glad you were healed."

At the word, Tikki froze. "Healed?"

She looked around, taking in the packed room. Master Fu sat nearby, as well as Plagg, who was vibrating with impatience. Adrien stood in near Plagg, still wearing the Chat Noir costume. A frown marred her face.

"What am I doing here?"

Marinette had never heard Tikki sound so confused.

Plagg zoomed in to hug Tikki. "You didn't wake up, so Ladybug brought you here."

"Wake up?" Tikki turned to Marinette.

"It was time for patrol, and I tried to wake you up, but you kept sleeping. I offered coffee, and you know how much you love the drink. But you didn't move, and I thought something was wrong," Marinette explained. "So I brought you to Master Fu, and he said that it was because of the misfortune in my love life that caused you to enter an extended slumber."

Marinette cupped Tikki in her hands. "Tikki, I'm so sorry, I didn't know!"

A look of rage rose over Tikki's face as she floated towards Master Fu. "How dare you accuse my chosen that a lack of fortune in her life is her fault," she snapped. "Fortune comes and goes. I know that better than most. So if I decide to conserve my energy, I will do so. I know how to rid myself of the misfortune I absorb. In fact, Plagg and I were going to trade off our fortunes with each other to refuel ourselves. Why didn't you explain that hibernation was one of my many methods?"

Master Fu held Tikki's gaze. "Because I fear that hibernation isn't enough anymore."

"Hawkmoth may be coming, but he isn't coming anytime soon," Tikki retorted. "His threat takes years to carry out, and it hasn't begun yet. I can verify."

Master Fu shook his head. "This isn't about Hawkmoth. It's never been about Hawkmoth."

"Then what is it about?" Plagg spoke roughly.

"It's about what fuels your powers. The marriage of the ladybug and the cat is in danger."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review? Thoughts? Feedback? All are welcome. :D


	7. Tell Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to Yamina20 for beta-ing this chapter!
> 
> And this is where I apologize for the lack of updating for two months. I work on this when I have free time, and I haven't had lots of free time recently. School's back in season, and that's what occupies my time the most. As you can guess, this story has been put on the back burner. If you're eager for updates, I can only say I'm sorry.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

A _whoosh_ of breath left Marinette. "Pardon?"

Master Fu looked over at her. "The marriage of the ladybug and the cat is in danger."

"How can it be in danger if we're already matched together?" Adrien spoke. Did she detect a hint of bitterness in his voice?

"Have you agreed to marry each other?" Master Fu asked calmly.

There was a pause as Marinette and Adrien debated what to say.

"No." Marinette chose to go with the truth. "We're matched together, and since we’re both on our last match, we must marry each other."

"Agreeing to marry is not the same as being forced into the situation." The old man was quiet.

"But it will still power the Miraculous, won't it?" Adrien asked.

Master Fu shook his head. "No, it won't. Tell me, what do you think marriage is?"

"A bond that must be created so the privilege of raising children can be given," she said dully. "It is a bond of true satisfaction, made better because of the matching system."

"Word for word from the handbook," Adrien said dryly. "I didn't know you had it in you."

She sat up and glared. "Then what do you think marriage is?"

He held her gaze. "A union between two people."

"No feelings needed?" she challenged.

"They were never necessary for me."

Marinette stared at him. She noticed the hood over his head, the bent knees, and the arms wrapped around them. He looked like he was curling in on himself, as if he was hiding from something. So he was hurt. But by what? As Marinette cast her mind over the conversation with Plagg, her own voice echoed in her ears.

_"What makes you think that I want to marry him?"_

She winced. Now he thought that she didn't want to marry him...which wasn't wrong on all accounts. She just wanted to marry _Chat,_ not Adrien.

"And that is precisely why the marriage is in danger." Master Fu spoke crisply. "Marriage has traditionally symbolized the feeling of love and friendship. You see, Tikki and Plagg may refer to themselves as brother and sister, but they were known to combine and separate occasionally before sealing themselves into the Miraculous. This resulted in them sharing aspects of each other's personalities as well as forming a bond between them. We see it as an example of yin and yang.”

“Dark and light?” Marinette wondered aloud. “So if Tikki represented the yang, then she would have a spot of yin from Plagg.”

“Correct,” Master Fu continued. “However, they are not fixed in their roles. Tikki is not always the light, or yang, and Plagg is not forever the dark, yin. This is what makes their bond so special-their ability to change roles. It is also what must transfer across to their holders, because it is this bond that fuels their powers-”

“-since Tikki and Plagg can no longer merge and separate like they did before, because they’re attached to the Miraculous stones,” Adrien finished. “But that means that Marinette and I must complement each other.”

"You do. Do you think I chose you two to be Miraculous holders without thinking about this issue? You two complement one another quite well, or else the magic wouldn't have held.”

 _So why did he say that the marriage was in danger? Unless there’s something more involved…._ Marinette felt ill.

“Deep feelings between the Miraculous holders are necessary to create the bond. It is found that romantic love, _not_ platonic, is preferred. Platonic love is a temporary solution, but it does not last. Either the partners experience romantic love to fuel the bond or the partnership is broken.”

“Why wasn’t this necessary earlier?” Marinette felt anger bubbling up. They were being forced to love each other, after all. Wasn’t that illegal?

She looked over at Adrien. Why wasn’t he protesting? Surely he didn’t like her anymore than she liked him, so why wasn’t he being repulsed by the lack of freedom?

Master Fu looked at her sternly. “This has always been necessary, Ladybug. The bond is only needed when one or both of the partners experience genuine feelings of love; puppy love does not fall into that category. Alternative methods to fuel powers do not work well.”

He caught the glint in her eye. “Tikki can tell you the stories of those who failed, Ladybug. I assure you that romantic love is the one and only solution.”

He clapped his hands. "Sometimes, there is resistance. Various solutions have been passed down the years, and I am sure that we will find one that fits you. However, there are usually a few things that form the base of a stable relationship. Trust and respect are the building blocks. I would recommend starting from there."

Adrien looked resigned. "Master Fu, I need time to think about this."

Marinette agreed. "I do, too."

"Then I will see you both tomorrow at 6 in the evening to further our discussion."

* * *

Marinette rushed to the door, cursing her bad luck. A series of unfortunate events had plagued her all day long, ranging from water falling on her head to encountering red lights at every traffic light. It would only make sense to arrive at Master Fu’s home fifteen minutes late, dress stained with coffee, and hair wild beyond recognition. She quickly slipped Tikki a cookie for dinner.

She raised her hand to knock just when the door burst open. “I’m so sorry, bad luck just followed me everywhere today, someone spilled a cup of coffee on me and I didn’t have time to change and-” She looked up to see Adrien holding the door open.

He was holding back a smirk, but she could see his face twitching. “Cat got your tongue?” she challenged, her bad mood prompting her to pick a fight.

“Yes,” he answered. “Considering that I am Chat Noir, I would say that the cat has indeed got my tongue. You, on the other hand, look like you had to fight with the cat to get your tongue back.”

“Yes, well, not all of us are supermodels,” she huffed. “We can’t all be perfect.”

He looked at her. “No, we can’t.” Stepping aside, he motioned with his hand to indicate that she should enter. “We should go. Master Fu is waiting.”

She shouldered her way past him. “Obviously. If you hadn’t been holding up the door, then Master Fu wouldn’t have to wait so long.”

“And if you were actually on time, he wouldn’t have to wait at all.”

“You didn’t have to block me.” She knew she was being petty, but her irritation caused the words to slip out.

“You were late. I was here to open the door.” His voice was level.

“Why did you open the door if you didn’t like me?”

“Who said I didn’t like you?”

“You, remember?”

“You’re the one who’s causing it!” _How dare he._ Couldn’t he see that he was the problem?

“No, I’m not! You started it in the restaurant!”

“And I also apologized! Or did you forget on your way here?”

She paused. He was right, but she wasn’t willing to give up without a fight. The humiliation burned in her throat, and she wanted him to feel it too.

“Yeah, whatever.” She stepped past him, walking down the hallway towards the room they had their meeting in last time. “Master Fu?” she called out. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Marinette entered the room as Tikki flew out of the purse to Marinette’s side. The room was devoid of any furniture, a stark contrast from last night. The mats were gone, and the gramophone had disappeared. She spun in a circle, wondering where Master Fu had gone. Perhaps he had gone to make tea?

She poked her head out of the door, scanning both sides of the hallway. There were no other rooms near the entrance, and she was quite sure that this was the room they had the discussion in the other day. The only other door was the one that led to the bathroom inside the room. The hallway ended in a living room, and she was quite sure that wasn’t where Master Fu wanted them to meet.

“Master Fu?” she called out softly. “Where are we meeting?”

Adrien brushed past her, slamming the door shut to the bathroom. Sounds of whispering and the crackle of foil reached her ears. She guessed he was feeding Plagg from the sounds of it. She turned around to scan the floor again, pausing when she saw a note in the center of the floor. Did Master Fu write it? Hurriedly, she picked it up and scanned it, huffing when she realized that he wrote the note in  Mandarin.

What was he trying to do? From Adrien and Master Fu’s interactions last night, she knew they had a close relationship, close enough for Master Fu to explain to Adrien what kwamis were. She theorized then that Master Fu would also know that Adrien was fluent in Mandarin, and after learning of Adrien’s upbringing, that he was literate in Mandarin as well.

She wouldn’t quite trust Adrien to read the note to her. Sighing, she pulled out her phone and pulled out translator, copying in the Mandarin characters. A translated message slowly popped up.

_At the supermarket. Will be back at 8._

_What?_

Surely Adrien knew what was in the note. He was here before her, after all. But why did he let her in after he read the slip of paper?

 “Hey,” she called. “Did you read the note Master Fu left?”

Adrien opened the door to the bathroom. “What note?”

She brandished the piece of paper at him. “ _This_ note.”

He frowned as he took it from her. She noticed that he was careful not to let their fingers touch. “This wasn’t here when I went to open the door.”

“Are you saying that Master Fu left to go _shopping_ when you’re already here?”

“It does say that he’s shopping, but that he’s also coming back at 8.”

“So why did you open the door for me if he was already gone?”

“He must have left when I was opening the door for you,” Adrien sighed.  “I think he used the back entrance to go to the market.”

“Does he usually do this?” Marinette asked. She struggled to keep the frustration out of her voice.

“Not usually.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You can stay here if you want. Master Fu doesn’t mind.”

“You say that like you’ve been here before.” She guessed that Master Fu was Adrien’s mentor-they had communicated through looks last night, and Adrien was exceedingly familiar with the apartment.

“I have.” He spoke crisply, turning away to look outside, effectively ending the discussion.

She sighed. Why was getting information out of him harder than pulling teeth? “I’m going to go home and come back at eight,” she announced. Her dress was still stained with coffee, and she was starting to feel disgusting from her messy hair. She needed a shower badly.

He didn’t turn around, choosing to stare outside the window.

She left quickly, checking her instinct to slam the door as she stepped outside. No matter how frustrated she was at Master Fu and Adrien, it wouldn’t do to take her anger out on the door. She checked her watch. 6:25. It would take her twenty minutes to bike home and back, thirty to clean herself up, and ten to eat dinner, if she heated up one of those frozen pre-packaged meals. All in all, it would take her an hour, and she would have some time left over to ensure she would be at Master Fu’s at eight.

Perfect.

* * *

After calming herself down in the shower, she quickly finished her dinner and checked the time. She still had thirty minutes left before she was supposed to leave, so she decided to ask Tikki various questions about the marriage between Ladybug and Chat. Marinette was curious, but she didn’t trust Master Fu to answer her questions truthfully-at least not completely. She knew he was invested in the marriage, and she wouldn’t put it past him to bend the truth a bit so she would willingly enter the union.

“Tikki,” Marinette started, sitting down at the kitchen table. “What exactly _is_ the marriage, anyway?”

Tikki paused to nibble on a chocolate chip cookie, avoiding Marinette’s eyes. “It’s what Master Fu said: a bond to power the Miraculous. Without a marriage, the Miraculous cannot be powered.”

“Master Fu mentioned something about alternate power sources. Are there any?”

The kwami hesitated.

“Are there?” Marinette pressed.

“Since Plagg and I are bound to the Miraculous, the Miraculous is our main power source. But there is an alternate source of energy the Miraculous use.” Tikki rushed through the answer, taking quick bites of the cookie now. She only speed-ate if something was wrong.

Marinette sensed there was something else Tikki wasn’t saying. “Tikki, please tell me what those alternate sources are.”

Tikki hesitated. “None are preferable to marrying Adrien, Marinette. We must have a bond, and the Miraculous will force that bond despite a kwami’s objections.”

“Tell me,” Marinette insisted.

“Promise me that you won’t do anything rash once you know.” Her blue eyes begged Marinette to agree.

“I promise.” The words came out in a rush.

The kwami took a deep breath. “If you do not marry Adrien, the Miraculous will take both of you for energy instead. Being a Miraculous user, you have exactly what the Miraculous needs. Instead of bonding you to Adrien, you will be bonded to the Miraculous to provide power. Miraculous partners complement each other; they are meant to be compatible in all aspects of their life. After a certain point in partnership, it is impossible to find a new partner to match. You and Adrien have already passed that point, so your refusal means his death.”

Tikki looked somber, a far departure from her usual effervescence. “This has happened before, Marinette. Twice.” She set down the cookie and settled down onto Marinette’s shoulder. “No matter how hard he tried, Master Fu couldn’t persuade the pairs to create a true bond. It was too late when they were absorbed by the Miraculous.”

So if Marinette didn’t marry Adrien, both of them would be used as fuel to power the Miraculous? How wrong was that? Who thought it was a good idea to give her a Miraculous and automatically send her down this path? Hell, Tikki didn’t even warn her before telling her to put the earrings on! Marinette furiously cursed her teenage self for ever opening the box. The curiosity most definitely killed the cat in her case.

For a moment, Marinette considered ripping out the earrings, and then remembered her promise to Tikki. Creating bloody holes in her ears most definitely fell under the “rash things” category. She settled for hashing it out with Tikki instead.

“Who the hell thought it was a good idea to give teenagers a Miraculous without their consent?” she demanded. “Shouldn’t you tell them about what would happen?! The injuries and the relationships and the lies? I thought you guys were the good guys!” Marinette felt a roiling ball of emotions pulsing inside of her. She didn’t want to delve into her feelings, but anger and betrayal were at the forefront.

Tikki looked at her sadly. “Marinette,” she asked slowly, “if you had known what you would go through as a Miraculous holder, would you have ever accepted the role?”

The kwami’s soft voice paused Marinette’s thoughts. “No,” the designer said quietly. “I would have returned the box and wonder for the rest of my life, but I would have never asked for a second chance.”

“And that is exactly why a kwami does not tell his or her Miraculous holder the complete truth. Because if we did, no one would ever accept the role. Humanity would not advance. We would waste away.”

Marinette scoffed. “You can’t be _that_ important. Surely humanity can survive without your influence.”

“We enable others to take on superhuman powers to defeat human evil,” Tikki urged. “How do you think those impossible accomplishments are achieved? We helped create the pyramids of Egypt. The invention of gunpowder. The written language. We are there, hiding under a vest or a cloak, giving people the ability to better the world.” She shook her head. “We wouldn’t have bound ourselves to the Miraculous if we didn’t know our impact. But we had to give up such a huge part of ourselves that we need to a power source to keep us alive.”

 _Such an enormous source of power._ Marinette stared at Tikki in contemplation, slowly realizing that kwamis were the force of creation. There were so many different ways their power could be used for wrong.

Tikki must have seen the dawning horror on Marinette’s face. The kwami rushed her words, saying, “We didn’t choose our holders without much contemplation, Marinette! The holder of the turtle Miraculous carefully selects a host of candidates that match our personality, and we select someone after years of observation.”

“Teenagers grow and change. Hell, everyone grows and changes!” Marinette snapped. “How do you know that one of us wouldn’t have undergone such a drastic change that someone would have used the Miraculous for evil?”

As she said that, a dawning realization occurred. “My god, Hawkmoth is a Miraculous holder, isn’t he?” She barreled on, too absorbed in her revelation to notice Tikki’s frantic head shaking. “This only proves _why_ people shouldn’t be holders! In fact, why don’t I give these back to you-”

Hands shaking, Marinette moved to remove the earrings, intent on returning them to Master Fu as soon as possible. She scrambled to untwist the back clasp that kept the earring in place when she realized that the jewels weren’t budging. _Why weren’t they coming out?_ They’d come off before the first time she wore them!

 “Stop,” Tikki commanded when she saw Marinette’s hands tugging at her ears. “Remember that I have melded myself to the Miraculous. They are a part of me, and they obey my will.”

“Make them come off!” Marinette demanded. She faintly registered that she was whining, but she could care less at the moment. “I don’t want to be Ladybug anymore! I don’t want any part in the problems kwamis have created! I’ve sacrificed seven years of my life to this cause. Isn’t that enough?”

Tikki shook her head. “You can’t, Marinette. Remember Adrien?”

Seeing Marinette’s stubborn face, Tikki added, “How about Chat?”

 _Chat._ She wanted Chat so badly right now that it hurt.

“The bond, Marinette. If you quit right now, you’ll doom yourself and that boy to being absorbed by the Miraculous for energy. Do you want to do that?”

Mute, Marinette shook her head. Chat didn’t deserve such a death, and she didn’t want it either. In her fury, she had forgotten about the bond.

Tikki sighed. “I know it’s not fair, Marinette, but it’s what we have right now. And I know that you’re unhappy with the situation, but the only thing to do is to make the best of it.”

“What about Hawkmoth?” Marinette asked. “I don’t want to be like him.”

“Hawkmoth wasn’t chosen. He found the Miraculous and used it for his own ends.”

“So why do _we_ have to stop him? If the kwami attached to the Miraculous can control the jewel, why can’t the kwami prevent Hawkmoth from using it?”

“They’ve already bonded. Like it or not, kwamis bond immediately to their holder. Once a Miraculous is taken off, the kwami ceases to exist outside of the Miraculous. They are essentially vulnerable and require a caretaker, which is the role of the turtle Miraculous’ holder.”

“So Hawkmoth is defeated by taking away the Miraculous.”

“Yes.”

Marinette nodded, slowly absorbing the information. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.” She needed time to contemplate, and although she usually cleared her head through patrol, she wanted to be alone.

She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got ten minutes left before eight! Let’s go, Tikki!” Scooping up her purse, she flew through the door, pausing only to lock the apartment before pushing her bike onto the street. Tikki dove into the bag as Marinette pedaled furiously through the streets.

The dark night sky was lit up in a sea of traffic lights, both blinding her and leading the way to her destination.  She hoped she wouldn’t run into traffic again like she did last night; she most definitely didn’t want to be late again. She _did_ see a flash of black leaping from building to building, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was her imagination and how much of it was the blurry eyesight induced by flashing traffic lights.

_Why would Chat be patrolling anyway? There’s a meeting at Master Fu’s in ten minutes._

It was then she realized the reason was that humanoid shapes were stalking the streets. Strange figures in bright colors prowled around, engulfing and morphing civilians into odd versions of themselves. Some of the figures had bells, while others carried whistles, and still others had glitter falling from them.

 _Akuma._ The thought shot through her mind. Marinette quickly parked her bike near a shop and ducked into its restroom, transforming herself into Ladybug. She crawled out through the bathroom’s window and flattened herself against the roof. There was a threat to deal with, but first, she had to gather surveillance on the threat. More importantly, she couldn’t be caught.

A figure passed right under her roof. It moved quickly, heading towards the unlucky civilian near the shop. Ladybug watched carefully as the figure surrounded the civilian, and then engulfed it, almost as if the figure was… _dressing_ the civilian by force. A few seconds later, a second figure emerged from under the first one, and both continued to seek new victims to target.

It seemed as if the figures were outfits brought to life, meant to transform others in to the same outlandish clothing. She guessed that the akuma victim this time was a designer, but what could have set the person off? Very few events could have prompted such odd designs. The only one she could think of was Gabriel Agreste’s annual contest, meant to showcase unique clothing.

She dropped her head into her hands. The poor designer must have taken it to Gabriel Agreste for prior approval as many were wont to do, and must have received a tongue lashing for it. Gabriel Agreste was notorious for only judging the contest, and giving severe lectures if anyone tried to seek his advice. She guessed the designer was either a first timer or was desperate for advice. Seeing how the outfits turned out, she would have wanted advice too if she were the designer.

People upset by Gabriel Agreste became notoriously difficult akumas to nullify. Something the man did created deep feelings of animosity or hurt, and the deeper the feeling was, the stronger the akuma.

 _Great._ She doubted it would be an easy night. The last time she and Chat had to nullify an Agreste akuma, it took them  close to two hours, four times as long as the average akuma. The worst part was that Agreste akumas were always present during the fashion season, averaging one a week. It was also when she was the busiest. She didn’t know how much sleep she’d lost to a rampaging, hurt person working in the fashion industry. Honestly, the man was a menace sometimes, even though his designs were spectacular.

A small thump dropped down beside her, and a whiff of cologne made its way to her nose. Chat. “I’m betting this one’s caused by Agreste,” he commented. “This’ll take us a good part of the night.”

She snorted. “That man should be stopped. He causes so many akumas during fashion week.”

Chat laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “Remember the one we had during spring? The poor guy was rambling about the creative placement of feathers in places feathers should never be.”

Ladybug snickered at the memory. “He did create some interesting feather arrangements, though.” She remembered the plastering of feathers on people’s faces. Very artistic, but very odd.

She pointed to the figures. “What are these things, outfits?”

“Outfits. Not the most creative, but then again, there _are_ only so many powers an akuma can have. I’m betting Hawkmoth is running out of ideas at this point.”

“Ready to go get him?” Chat gestured towards the mayor’s office. “I’ve seen a figure  commanding these odd things standing on the roof.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

It struck her as odd that they were back to their old partnership, bantering and planning with ease. She’d expected to be faced with a tense Chat, but he’d greeted her like he usually did, and she just followed his lead. It was nice to interact with Chat without the tensions between Adrien and Marinette, and she hoped to keep it that way.

She swung off the roof, ready to thwart another one of Hawkmoth’s creations, happy release her pent-up emotions through physical combat.

 


	8. An Agreste Akuma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beta, Yamina20! It was so nice of her to do this on top of her busy schedule.  
> I've been editing the chapters I feel need to be changed. The edits aren't big, just small mistakes I saw. Re-reading them isn't necessary to understand everything. 
> 
> Enjoy!

As they bounced through the night sky, she kept an eye out for the figure on the rooftop Chat had mentioned. When she swept the grounds below, she couldn’t help but be distracted by the stars glittering in the darkness. She didn’t want to contemplate her current situation, and watching little glowing spheres of light seemed to be the solution. Their soft glow transported her back to the earlier days of being Ladybug, and she was flooded with fond memories of midnight patrols and frolicking battles.

Watching them, she nearly slammed into a roof when she failed to catapult high enough. Her earrings buzzed with Tikki’s disapproval when Ladybug realized how close she had come to dashing her brains out on the tiles. After that close call, she resolved to keep her head in the game, focusing on finding the akuma.

They visited the most popular monuments first, since akumas liked to stand out and get attention. They started with the Arc of Triumph and worked their way through the Champs-Elysées, ending with the Notre Dame Cathedral. Funnily enough, the akuma wasn’t anywhere, or at least anywhere they visited. It was possible that the akuma was at the monuments at different times than when they were there, but akumas usually didn’t move around. That made it too hard for them to get the attention they craved.

More mystifying was the movement of the costumes. They seemed to be everywhere, equally dense in all of the monuments scattered throughout the city. But the akuma couldn’t have been to all the monuments that quickly; she’d never seen one do that before.

But then again, they were dealing with an Agreste akuma, notoriously difficult to purify. She sighed. It was the horrible ending to a nasty day.

“Where do you think the akuma’s gone?” she shouted to Chat. “It doesn’t seem to be anywhere!”

“Let’s check the Eiffel Tower again!” he called back. “Akumas like to be there!”

She nodded. At this point in the game, the Eiffel Tower was their best bet. Most akumas made an appearance, even if they liked to stay somewhere else, because of the Tower’s visibility.

After a few city blocks before the Eiffel Tower, Chat stopped abruptly, skidding on the rooftop. He crouched down and motioned at her to stay low and quiet; he had found the akuma.

 Ladybug nodded her assent, looking in the direction Chat was pointing at. The akuma was tall and skinny, rather like a stick insect, and he occasionally shook the small, short staff in his hands. He wore sparkling costumes like his creations, but his were more vibrantly decorated in different patterns. An old, tattered hat sat on the top of his head. Every so often, tiny fireworks sparked into existence to form a new outfit. Although she saw outfits with whistles, bells, and glitter, this akuma only produced glitter costumes. Where did the other outfits go?

She turned her attention back to the akuma, who was now muttering fiercely under his breath. His lips moved quickly as he cupped one hand over the top rounded end of the staff. As his chanting grew louder, a large boom sounded, and duplicate of the akuma popped into existence. The clone leaped away, its clothes sparking outfits all the same, but with a new accessory: rhinestones.

Chat and Ladybug looked at each other in horror. If each akuma produced a different accessory, then there must be four akumas, including the newest clone. And if each akumas produced clones, then they’d be up to their necks in costumes in no time. That would definitely explain the even number of costumes throughout Paris.

Agreste must have really angered the akuma, whoever it was.

They turned back in time to watch another rhinestone outfit producing clone pop into existence. The akuma’s rhinestone costumes prowled the streets, also changing civilians into clothing, but seemed weaker than the other costumes. The civilians weren’t engulfed as quickly, and other costumes were engulfing the rhinestone costumes themselves. As she watched, she quickly noticed a pattern in strength. Bells were the strongest, whistles next, glitter, and then rhinestones.

“Looks like there’s a pattern,” she commented quietly. “Bell costumes are the strongest, and I’m betting that’s the original akuma.”

Chat nodded in agreement. “Definitely. But how do we get rid of these other ones?”

“We can focus on getting the original akuma first,” Ladybug argued. “Usually, the akuma’s effects are nullified once they’re cleansed.”

“Sounds good.” Chat nodded his head. “Let’s go find patient zero, milady.” He smiled that Cheshire cat grin she hadn’t seen recently, throwing her for a loop.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “My pleasure, o brave knight.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know I know that you don’t really mean that.”

“Yeah, I don’t. You wouldn’t make a great knight anyways,” she teased lightly. “You’re so focused on catnip, I bet you’d savor the treat first and save the lady second.”

“Too right,” he smirked. “What can I say? I like girls who fight for themselves better, so maybe that’ll weed out the ones who come chasing after me.”

She snorted. “Let’s go, you silly cat.” She leaped into the distance, swinging her yo-yo to catch onto a building’s far-off terrace. Launching herself high into the air, she took a quick glance before tumbling onto a rooftop, and repeating the process again. She was aware of Chat right behind her, the thud of his baton accompanying the whirring of her yo-yo. The night air whipped through her hair, and she was glad to be a Miraculous holder in this moment.

A shining figure near the Eiffel Tower caught her eye. As she swung closer, she noticed the massive number of bell costumes milling around the area. Some costumes fell down the tower, while others were tangled in the intricate bars of the monument. It looked like the original akuma was here.

She exchanged a glance with Chat Noir, who nodded and started up the tower. They would be following normal protocol then: coming at the akuma from both sides to trap the victim in a pincer claw motion. As she climbed the Eiffel Tower, she carefully picked her way around those costumes caught in the bars. She wasn’t sure if the costumes could still attack her without their mobility, but she wasn’t taking any chances. The last thing she needed was to be immobilized and stranded without her powers. She supposed there were alternative methods of purifying the akuma, but she wasn’t willing to bet on their existence.

Flipping up onto the top of the tower, she checked her surroundings. Chat was moving up across the opposite side, as he usually did. The bell costumes were still milling around, but there seemed to be a unanimous movement towards the right. Perhaps the costumes were attracted to their creator. She had seen many akumas who surrounded themselves with their creations, so it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to assume that this akuma did the same. But when she craned her neck to the right, the akuma remained elusive, and she had lost sight of the shining figure she thought was the akuma. That couldn’t be right. The akuma had to be here somewhere.

Ladybug dashed around to the opposite side, skidding in front of Chat. “I can’t see the akuma,” she whispered furiously. “He was here half an hour ago. Have you?”

He shook his head. “Nope, milady. I saw the shining person on the top of the tower as you advanced, but I haven’t seen him since.”

She ground her teeth. An elusive akuma was a tiresome akuma, and a long fight meant a late meeting afterwards with Master Fu. She doubted the old man wanted to reschedule after finally wrangling an agreement out of both herself and Chat.

She shook her head, making a snap decision. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll chase him down if we have to.” She cocked her head, reconsidering. “Or we could trail these costumes around a while longer. They seem to be moving as one mass, and maybe they’ll lead us straight to the akuma.”

She turned to leap off of the tower, her mind made up, pausing only when she felt a light touch on her shoulder. “What?” She snapped. “We’ve got things to do, akumas to defeat, people to kill. Let’s get going!”

In hindsight, the last phrase was probably overkill.

“People to kill?” She could hear Chat’s amusement leaking out from his voice. “You seem to have a grudge against someone. Or _someones_ , I should say.”

Hawkmoth and Master Fu _definitely_ top the list, she thought. Ladybug opened her mouth to reply when Chat cut her off.

“It’s alright to feel frustrated, especially with everything we’ve got going on,” he continued in a softer voice. “Just-just remember it’ll be alright, okay?” He paused, a note of desperation entering his voice. His eyes flashed. “I mean, we’ve got god-like beings as our companions. It can’t _not_ be alright.” 

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Chat was right. Everything would sort itself out; she didn’t need to wind herself up thinking about the akuma or anything else related to it, no matter how frustrating it would be. Everything would be alright.

Ladybug leaned to the side, hugging Chat’s shoulder. “Thanks,” she replied. “I needed that.” The warmth of his shoulder felt nice against her cheek. A sense of calm began to go through her and she pushed any thought of Adrien and Master Fu out of her mind.

“Chat knows best,” he said smugly, after several seconds had passed.

She groaned, whacking him on the shoulder. “Chat, you ruined the moment!” She set her mind back to planning, but not before she saw a blush tint his cheeks pink in the gleam of the city lights.

*******

Finding the akuma, it seemed, was the easier part. Defeating him was another beast.

“Chat, watch out!” Ladybug screamed as she dodged a bell costume, ducking under its arms as it tried to strangle her. She leapt to the side, hooking her yo-yo onto a gargoyle’s nose as she swung herself out of danger, knocking a few outfits down in the process.

“Got it!” Chat knocked away the incoming outfit as he rolled and tumbled among the costumes, looking all for the world like a professional circus acrobat. He swung his baton to the side, taking out an entire row of outfits as he pushed himself into the air, neatly sitting down onto adjacent gargoyle. He huffed and panted as he gulped in breaths of air, resting from the fight.

Her suspicions about the akuma had  been right. The costumes were following the akuma, and after tracing the stream of colorful outfits, Chat had discovered the akuma hiding under the Eiffel Tower. Unfortunately, after discovering the akuma’s hiding place, he had set the costumes on Chat and Ladybug.

It seemed as if the entire city’s costume population had come streaming towards the team, and within seconds, they were both engulfed, nearly suffocating them under the sheer numbers. They had just been able to extract themselves, but in the few minutes they had been fighting, the akuma had gotten away. Meanwhile, the costumes kept streaming towards them, piling up upon themselves. The akuma’s call was so strong that the costumes were even ignoring the civilians.

“Ladybug,” Chat muttered, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing the outfits’ attention. “The costumes are still coming this way. Maybe they’re still attracted to the akuma, so perhaps the akuma’s below us.”

She looked down, craning her head in different directions and spied the akuma crouching on the gargoyle beneath hers.

“Yeah,” she pointed towards the man. “He’s there.”

The akuma was lost in thought, it seemed. He stood there silently, watching his costumes rampage through Paris. The fireworks on his outfit were dimming, and fewer costumes were being spawned from his clothes. His staff stood still by his side, and his hat was still tattered.

Suddenly, he straightened. The staff was brought to his side again, and he began chanting. With one hand cupped over the staff, he gestured the other one wildly, summoning all of his creations.

Ladybug and Chat exchanged a look. Whatever the akuma was doing, it couldn’t be good. She whipped out her yoyo to snatch the hat off of the akuma’s head, sure that the old thing was where the akuma resided. She cursed as she missed. Unfortunately, she also caught the akuma’s attention as well.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir!” A gruesome smile twisted his lips. “Give me your Miraculous!”

The two people in question sighed and rolled their eyes. Akumas, it seemed, would follow the same procedure each time.

“My name is Costume-Maker,” he proclaimed proudly, “and I shall dress everyone in my outfits! They are the best, and I will allow no one else to say otherwise!”

“Sheesh,” Chat muttered. “This guy is seriously mad.”

Ladybug snickered under her breath. “Costume-Maker? Has Hawkmoth been running out of names?”

Grinning, she swung into the fight. Sadly, it was rather anti-climatic. The costumes didn’t lend themselves to fighting well; rather, they clung onto Ladybug rather than punching. Frustrated by the lack of physical violence, Ladybug swung her yo-yo around haphazardly to strike out at the costumes. She mowed down a few, but even more were caught onto her yo-yo strings. It took a few seconds of furious shaking to remove the costumes, but when she was finished, the space she had cleared was already full of outfits again.

 “Lucky Charm!” she called out, swinging her yo-yo into the air. A large wooden stick slammed down into her hands, perfect for batting away the clingy outfits.

This time, when she moved the stick in an arc, few costumes were stuck to the surface. She repeated the action again, advancing forward each time. Chat seemed to be doing something similar. He twirled his baton around in a twisted approximation of a baton twirler’s routine, knocking the outfits out temporarily. Together, they managed to advance to the center of the crowd where the akuma stood.

Strangely enough, the man didn’t seem eager to move. He stayed still, twitching occasionally. The purple mask that had appeared near the beginning of the fight didn’t seem to make much of a difference; Ladybug imagined that Hawkmoth was furiously commanding the akuma to do _something,_ but the akuma appeared to be resisting the demands.

Against her will, Ladybug was impressed with the akuma. She’d never seen an akuma resist Hawkmoth this long before, but she didn’t approve of the akuma’s intense emotional response that had landed all of Paris in the situation in the first place.

Once she was within a few yards of the akuma, she swung her yo-yo out, knocking the hat off of the akuma’s head and into Chat’s hands. He quickly summoned a Cataclysm to obliterate the cap into dust, releasing the small black butterfly, which Ladybug quickly purified. With a toss of her yo-yo and a cry of “Miraculous Ladybug,” Paris was back to normal – or, at least as normal Paris could be.

She felt a rush of relief after defeating the akuma, and judging by the look on Chat’s face, he felt the same.

A short boy sat in the middle of the street, and Ladybug couldn’t help but notice that his suit was covered with the same outrageous patterns the outfits had. Bells, whistles, and glitter dominated the fabric, overwhelming the observer. If the girl had asked Gabriel Agreste for help while wearing that, Agreste would have torn her apart in a minute. The man detested loud patterns, preferring to use calm ones instead.

“Where am I?” the boy muttered, looking at his surroundings. Upon seeing Ladybug and Chat Noir, he buried his head into his hands. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone to Gabriel Agreste for help! But I couldn’t help it; I’ve looked up to him for so long and I just wanted his approval!” He buried his head into his hands. “And now I’ve gone and gotten akumatized and caused so much trouble for everyone, and I probably can’t even enter one of his contests anymore!”

Ladybug quickly walked over and knelt next to him, pulling a blanket out of her bag. She’d learned that blankets were good for shock and for hiding the akumatized person’s identity; some civilians were particularly vicious and liked to pick on Hawkmoth’s victims.

“It’s alright,” Ladybug soothed, rubbing her hands in a circular pattern over the boy’s back. “That’s what Chat and I are here for. Besides, none of this would’ve happened if Hawkmoth wasn’t here.”

She offered him a smile. “Anyway, if you’re worried about not being able to enter his design contest afterwards, don’t worry about it. Mr. Agreste causes so many akumas, especially during Fashion Week” - here, she drew a small laugh from the boy – “and if he banned them all, no one would be able to enter. I’m sure you’re still eligible.”

 “Yeah,” Chat added. “It’s like what Ladybug says. And besides, I’ve seen one of the akumatized people win one of Agreste’s contests.”

“Really?” The boy perked up. His eyes were shiny. “That’s amazing!”

Chat nodded. “Even if Mr. Agreste doesn’t like your designs, someone else might. There are other contests out there and other designers who will appreciate your work.”

“Thank you!”  He grinned, standing up to hug Ladybug and Chat and handed the blanket back to Ladybug. “It’s been really nice meeting you guys.” He looked down, then up, as if he were gathering his courage.

“Can you take a picture with me?” The boy’s face bloomed red. “I mean, I know it’s a big favor and you just saved me and all but I’ve also really wanted to meet you, if not necessarily under these circumstances.” He smiled shyly. “If you want to, that is.”

“Sure,” Ladybug agreed. Something pinged inside her when she looked at him; the boy’s puppy-eyed adoration reminded her of her own crush on Gabriel Agreste’s work.

They gathered together, and Chat snapped the photo with the girl’s phone. “Fromage!” they yelled as the camera flashed.

There was a crowd gathering as Ladybug and Chat were comforting the girl, and as soon as they finished taking the picture, a surge of fans rushed over with their fans. Ladybug and Chat posed and smiled for a few more, then made their goodbyes, explaining that they had to leave.

“We’ll see you later!” Ladybug waved goodbye as Chat lingered to take a few more pictures.

As he caught up with her, he muttered, “You do realized that the next time we see them will most likely be an akuma attack?”

“So?” She didn’t see the problem with her statement.

“You know that some of them are crazy enough to be akumatized just so they can meet their idols?”

She scoffed. “I don’t think anyone’s stupid enough to do that.”

“Maybe not anyone, but there are some who are willing to try.” He sighed. “We’re late for Master Fu’s meeting as it is, and I don’t think he’s going to postpone it. Let’s get close to his shop to release the transformation.”

She nodded her assent. “Let’s.”

They swung into a dingy alleyway, narrow and dark. As the bright flash of the de-transformation lit up the darkness, Adrien found himself staring at Marinette. While the moon was bright, all he could see was the bright gleam of Marinette’s eyes. He couldn’t help but think how closely she resembled Ladybug, before he reminded herself that she _was_ Ladybug.

On second thought, Ladybug and Marinette did have a few differences. Ladybug was capable of making him feel and act like a normal human being. Her frustration and compassion reached him when he was in his soldier state, making it easier for him to hide his ruthlessness. On the other hand, Marinette just managed to rub him the wrong way. She antagonized him and he couldn’t help but insult her back, no matter how hard he tried to resist. Sometimes, he didn’t even see a reason for his insults.

 “Well, I guess there’s no point in delaying it any longer,” Marinette muttered as she adjusted her bag strap, jerking him back into the present and out of his reverie. She began to walk, not looking at him as she did when he followed.

Once the fight was over and the adrenaline gone, his situation came rushing back to him, and he stumbled with the dizziness. A forced marriage. An identity reveal. A girl who didn’t want him. A fashion design contest with said girl. Actually, it was no longer hard to see why he kept antagonizing Marinette. But he still didn’t want to fight her. The last thing he wanted was a hopeless marriage like his parents’.

He looked at her. She seemed to be grinding her teeth, pausing, and then grinding them again. He could hear her from here, his heightened hearing a side effect of being Chat Noir, and wondered if it was polite to ask her to stop. The sound was annoying him, and he really wanted her to stop. On the other hand, he might risk a fight. But the sound was just irritating.

“Can you stop?” he finally asked, trying the keep the exasperation from his voice. “You’re grinding your teeth – it’s a little annoying, don’t you think?”

She looked startled, and the sound stopped. “Oh. I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

He sighed. “It’s a habit, isn’t it?” He reminded himself to keep it civil.

She nodded. “Yeah. My dentist keeps telling me that I’ll injure my teeth, but I never remember long enough before I start doing it again.”

“Have you tried mouth guards yet?” Adrien could sympathize. He had the same problem when he was young. He only stopped because his father had looked so disappointed, and being the impressionable child he was, he wanted to make his father proud.

“Yup. It’s a habit I’ve only recently developed, but it’s surprisingly hard to get rid of.” She toyed with the strap of her purse. “I just keep spitting them out of my mouth, and they all feel and look so _ugly._ ”

Adrien couldn’t help grinning at the disgust in her voice. She continued, “I mean, if they have to be clunky, sure. But the colors are just awful.”

“Some of them are quite nice,” he grinned. “I think a few of them have superhero labels on it.”

She groaned. “I’m not getting one with the Ladybug logo. That’ll just make me feel like I’m chewing on myself.”

Adrien snickered. He hoped he hadn’t sounded unkind. “Then stop grinding your teeth.”

She looked unsure and not at all offended. “I’ve tried.”

“Have you tried focusing on something else? How about this,” he said, grinning as inspiration struck him. “If you stop, then you get to do something to me.”

He could see the wicked gleam in her eye. “Within reason,” he added hastily. “Nothing like dissolving the marriage contract or forcing me to buy you ridiculously expensive things.”

Marinette froze, her face a study in disgust. Her mouth twisted into a grimace as she pulled her bag strap between her hands, the faux leather forming an infinity. Her eyes closed and a crease appeared in the middle of her forehead. She looked the way Ladybug did when she was loathed something.

Adrien felt a sting in his chest when he realized that she was probably revolted with him, and the feeling left him with a bad taste in his mouth. He did know that she didn’t like him, but he didn’t enjoy being disliked.

He instantly wished to take the sentence back as soon as it left his mouth. The feeling of camaraderie that was growing was gone. Adrien had enjoyed the banter between them; it was almost like what he had with Ladybug, but now he had gone and ruined it all with one stupid sentence.

Suddenly, she laughed, releasing the strap of the bag as she did. “Yeah, I’m definitely scratching the jewels off my list then.” A note of false regret entered her voice as she whined, “I was _so_ looking forward to that new pair of diamond earrings.”

Marinette returned to her normal voice, rolling her eyes as she did so. “You didn’t have to say that,” she scoffed. “I’m not out for your money, and I know what’s reasonable and what’s not. I was only teasing, for the most part.” Or trying to, he heard her mutter under her breath.

He hummed in agreement, the next sentence flying out in relief. “Thank goodness I’ve got a smart one for a partner.” What was wrong with him today?

She looked shocked.  He privately thought she agreed with his uncontrollable tongue. “Are you complimenting me?”

“No, I’m insulting you. Unless we’ve agreed that being smart is an insult,” he retorted. “Look, not everything I say is an insult.”

“I know. You were pretty nice before.” There was a pause. He looked over at her, willing her to spit it out. “I liked that.”

Relief flooded through him when he heard her admission. Oh, thank goodness, he thought. He wasn’t the only one who was tired of the fighting and the bickering. It was also probably a good moment for him to come clean as well; he doubted she could tell what he was feeling when they weren’t being rude to each other.

“I liked that too.” He drew a hand across his hair, a nervous tick that he hadn’t gotten rid of. Adrien cleared his throat, wondering if he was going to say what he thought he was. “Do you think we can just … leave all of it behind and start over?”

Sometimes, Adrien really hated his own mouth and his lack of motor control. What was he thinking? Sooner or later she’d reject it, and they’d be even worse off –

“Maybe not a complete start, but we could try.” The moon glinted off her hair as she turned her head to look at him. “I mean, it would be nice not to be fighting all the time.”

He nodded, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. New opportunities didn’t come flying from the sky, and he was determined to not mess this one up.

Sticking out his hand, he cleared his throat. He tried to be as honest as could with his posture and facial expression. “Hi. I’m Adrien Agreste, I’m a model, and I’m Chat Noir.”

She faced him and smiled. Shaking his hand, she said, “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I’m a fashion design student, and I’m Ladybug.”

They grinned at each other, both uncomfortable in the new truce. He wasn’t quite sure where to go from here, and from the looks of it, she didn’t either. The silence stretched, and Adrien couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so awkward.

He began to laugh to relieve the feeling, and she joined in a second later. They stood there, hysterically giggling at something no one else could see.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say when you’re introducing yourself,” Adrien gasped out.

Marinette shrugged, her hands on her knees. “Who said we had to do things the right way?”

*******

Master Fu watched the pair laughing from the front window of his studio. “Look, Wayzz,” he murmured to the small green turtle kwami perched on his shoulder. “They’re getting along. Leaving them alone was the right choice.”

“Yes,” Wayzz replied. “Seeing as they could’ve both exploded or become civil with each other, I’d say they made the right choice.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, anyone?


	9. Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back. This chapter has been in the works off and on since the last update. Thank you for your patience. Enjoy!

Master Fu seemed more ominous each time she saw him, even when he was dressed in a brightly-colored Hawaiian shirt and long, soft pants.

“Come in, come in.” He ushered them inside. His kwami wasn’t making an appearance, but Marinette was sure that the creature was still around; Wayzz had lived too long and was too wise to not eavesdrop on conversations.

Marinette and Adrien followed the old man silently down the hallway, filing into the room they had been in when Tikki was being healed. The room looked the same as before. It gave her the chills.

She sat down on a mat near the door, her legs giving way to the cold floor beneath her. Marinette could feel the adrenaline wearing off from the fight. Exhaustion settled into her body and she pinched herself sharply, knowing that she would need her mental capacities at peak capacity to prepare for the conversation. Adrien sat down next to her, an arm-length distance away, while Master Fu settled himself in the center of the room, completing their odd triangle.

“I apologize about the shopping trip. I was missing a few fruits for a dish I needed to make. I hope I didn’t cause any you two any inconvenience?”

“No, not much,” Adrien replied. “There was an akuma attack, so the meeting would have had to been postponed anyways.”

The old man nodded. “Quite coincidental, don’t you think?” He clapped his hands. “Now, let us move on to different matters. How are you two?”

Master Fu looked over them with a sharp gaze. “You two seem friendly,” the old man said from his place in the center of the room. “Civil, I think, is the word.”

Marinette squirmed from her seat beside Adrien. She still wasn’t sure where they stood now, but the peace seemed to be holding. Her partner, on the other hand, quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, we are.”

Master Fu smiled. “So, how is the teamwork?”

Marinette looked at Adrien before replying. “Good. It’s alright.”

Her partner nodded. “Ladybug and Chat are fine.”

Master Fu’s smile grew incrementally. “Wonderful. Now, you probably want to go home, and I won’t stop you. Goodbye.” He stood up, ushering them to the door.

Marinette got up shakily. That was it? Didn’t he have to talk to them about their match?

Numbly, she allowed herself to be pushed outside, slowly slipping on her shoes. Next to her, Adrien put a hand on her shoulder to help her balance.  

It wasn’t until the weight of his hand fully settled onto her that she voiced her thoughts.

“You’re just going to let us leave now?” Her eyes widened. “Didn’t you want to talk to us about the marriage?”

Master Fu nodded, and she sighed in relief when she realized that he was joking. “But you’re still not ready yet. So, I shall see you in a few weeks.”

Or not.

“What Tikki told me was that we had to become partners, or the Miraculous would absorb us as energy. So shouldn’t that be your first priority?”

“It is,” the old man replied. “The first step to any relationship is to build trust, and you and Adrien have done a good job already by resolving the conflict between yourselves. I am only there to provide the spark, not the solution; these relationships cannot be rushed anymore than the sun can be hurried to rise again. I will call you when the two of you are ready.”

And with that, he slammed the door shut with a small puff of dust. Marinette stood in shock, frozen still.

“He usually does that,” Adrien commented from her side. “Master Fu operates on the need-to-know basis.”

Marinette turned to look at him. “You’ve met him before?”

He raised an eyebrow, beginning to walk down the street. She stumbled after him. “And you haven’t? You were just here yesterday.”

“No, I mean –“ she struggled to phrase her sentence. “You’ve met him enough times to know he does that?”

“Yeah. He took me in when I was injured once, and he told me to come back. I went.” He shrugged. “I kept going.”

She giggled. “Like a stray.”

“In a way.”

They had reached the crossroads of the street where Marinette usually took a left. Adrien seemed to be going forward, so she waved goodbye. “I’m going this way. Have a good night.”

He smiled. “See you soon.”

It’s hard not to look back at his smile. She’s still tense from the fight and their new agreement, but she can’t help but think that the way things are isn’t so bad.

Except for Master Fu’s penchant for doling out information on a need-to-know basis.

She pushes the thought to the back of her head and heads back to her apartment, ready to collapse from the long day.

 

* * *

 

Marinette stared at the pile of scrap paper in her waste basket. The wire rim was overflowing with crumpled pieces of trash from her failed designs, and she was finding no inspiration whatsoever. Sadly enough, according to her schedule, there was only two weeks left before she had to create mock-ups for her designs, and she knew from experience that mock-ups didn’t always turn out the way she wanted them to be. So, in order to have three successful outfits, she needed to have two more waiting in the wings, making it five different things to design.

Lovely. She had a plan. Now if she could actually come up with something, it wouldn’t be so hard.

Marinette sighed, plunking her head into her arms. She had so many ideas the other night when Adrien was trying on all different kinds of clothes; where did they go? She pulled out the notepad with the notes she had taken that night, and in the margins, she spies a small bubble surrounding the words “dress” and “sweater.”

A dress and a sweater? A sweater dress? That was meant to cling artfully to a woman’s body, and while Adrien had a pleasing figure, the dress wouldn’t enhance his features. He was more slinky than anything, and he didn’t have the curves required to pull off the dress.

She ran her fingers through the notes again, hoping that something would catch her eye. _Floral?_ The word was circled next to the phrase “long and loose.”

Why were all of these feminine? Adrien was a male model, emphasis on _male._ She didn’t think he could successfully convince the audience that he was feminine, but he _was_ sinuous, much like a snake slithering through the streets. Tight clothing on him wouldn’t serve to enhance his masculinity, but perhaps a certain androgynous angle would work better? The fashion trends were tending towards a more understated,  masculine look, and emphasizing the feminine aspect could prove to be enough of an eye-catcher to be called creative and not crazy.

Perhaps a floral, semi-formal dress shirt and straight-legged pants would do the trick? The floral pattern would be in traditionally masculine colors with nature-inspired patterns, and the pants would be in a solid block of color to ground the outfit. She could find decent shoes, perhaps a smooth brown suede, and a belt to provide a contrast between the pants and shirt.

Her pencil quickly sketched out the idea, thin, gray lines emerging from beneath her pencil and becoming an appearance on the creamy sketch paper. An image began to emerge, showcasing the outfit from the front and back. A few swirls indicated a floral pattern, the fabric for which she would have to hunt down later, and a small circle to indicate the belt.

One down, four to go.

She felt inordinately proud of herself.

Marinette skimmed her notes again, recalling how Adrien looked in the various polos and suits she had dressed him in. She remembered thinking that he would look better if the clothes had been tighter, more cinched at the waist and narrower at the shoulders. Perhaps a modified suit would do? She didn’t want to design a suit; no, Gabriel Agreste himself had cornered the market in that area and any attempt to do so would be immediately labeled as an uninspired charlatan.

But what if she extended the blazer, so that it resembled more of a trench coat or an overcoat? She could take the padding out of the shoulders, fit it to the model, and introduce a subtle vertical stripe pattern to elongate the figure. Adrien was tall, but a little extra height always came in handy on the runway.  A crisp white dress shirt with a starched, stiff collar would cut through the dark color of the coat and bring lightness to the outfit. She didn’t want to create slacks to accompany it; rather, narrow-legged jeans and loafers in a muted brown would convey a more accessible image.

Three more outfits to plan.

She was really feeling good about herself today. She flipped the page filled with the sketch and soldiered on.

There was a crick in her neck when she finished, and the soft glow of the morning light had evolved into the harsh glare of midday. She shifted in her chair, carefully moving her neck so that it returned to its normal position without the sharp pain of breaking the crick too quickly. Marinette carefully lifted her legs, wincing when she realized that both of them were numb and the dreaded pins and needles were coming.

She hopped out of the chair and stumbled over to the kitchen, rooting inside the fridge for something to eat and the cupboards for a couple of cookies for Tikki. She liked her designs, and she didn’t want to lose the creative inspiration yet, so she decided to go out for fabric shopping. She has a get-together with Alya and Nino in the afternoon, which gives her a good three or four hours to spend perusing over bolts of cloth.

Marinette spent her time at the Marché Saint Pierre, a fabric store that she’s been going to for a while. It’s a little out of her way, but the prices were reasonable and the selection was divine. She lost herself among the racks, running her fingers through the threads in an attempt to decide which floral pattern to take home. Instead, she quickly snapped a few pictures on her phone to mark the ones she’ll return to later, and notes which fabrics she wants to use. She knows from experience that designs are almost never perfect on the first try, and she doesn’t want to waste money on expensive fabric, so she picks out a good amount of cheap cloth similar in weight and drape to the one she wants to use. Marinette paid for it at the counter, exchanging pleasantries with the proprietor, who wished her luck with her designs.

It’s about three in the afternoon when her phone pings, her calendar reminding her to meet Alya for coffee in half an hour in the small bistro near the university. Her friend had recently returned from her trip to Africa, and today was the first time they could meet that fit into both of their schedules.  She’s excited to hear her friend’s stories about her work, and Marinette hurried back home to drop off her purchase, waving a hasty hello at her roommate before hopping into the shower and back out for a suitable outfit to wear.

Her hair had been blow-dried rather haphazardly, and it showed in the slight kinks she’s unsuccessfully tried to hide in the ponytail pulled behind her head. She hopes Alya doesn’t notice it as when she sweeps through the front door of the café and wraps Marinette into a hug.

Marinette has missed her friend in the months she’s spent in Africa. “Alya!” she exclaims, holding her friend at arm length to carefully examine her. “How does it feel to be back in France?”

“Good,” her friend smiled. “I’ve missed my comfort food and my favorite friend.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Marinette lead Alya to the line towards the counter. “Skype calls just aren’t the same.”

Alya shook her head. “There’s nothing like a face-to-face conversation.”

They ordered and sat down, settling down in the same window seat they used to sit at every week. Marinette smiles at her friend across the table, and has only just opened her mouth to speak when Alya’s eyes widen and she points to the window.

“There’s Nino!”

Marinette quickly glanced through the glass. Sure enough, there was Nino. He was strolling down the street with a blond guy.  

“Nino’s here?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought so either.” Alya’s waving at her boyfriend and his friend, and the duo headed towards the café. As they drew near, Marinette realized that it was Adrien walking with Nino.

“Alya, that’s Adrien!” she hissed.

“The guy you don’t like, right?” Alya’s face took a second too long to morph into a sympathetic expression. “I’ll just send them away then.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Marinette waved her offer away. “They’re already here, anyways.”

She could see Nino and Adrien from her vantage point in the couch and rose with Alya to welcome her friend. She gave Adrien a cool, polite greeting, her manners getting the better of her.

The four of them crammed themselves into the corner booth, elbows and shoulders pushed up along each other. Marinette found herself squashed between Nino and Alya, who was being enthusiastically hugged by her boyfriend. Weren't they cute.

They quickly grabbed some menus. Nino and Alya decided to split a dessert, which was what Marinette and Alya usually did. There was a gelato dish that she really wanted to try, but she didn’t think she could finish it. She looked over at Adrien, who was still looking at the menu, and wondered if his diet would even allow him to eat something like ice cream. Probably not, but there wasn’t any harm in trying, was there?

“Hey, Adrien, do you want to split something?” she asked.

His head jerked up. “What were you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of a dessert, actually. I don’t know if there’s anything…” she trails off. What was the polite way to ask whether or not if a model could eat something? She didn’t think outright asking him for his calorie count would suffice.

It turned out there was no need. Adrien was shaking his head apologetically. “Sorry, but I’m being capped at 1500 calories a day. I’m getting coffee, and I need that to stay awake.”

“Yeah, I need coffee too. That’s fine.” She contemplated the menu for a second, and then decided on churros and hot chocolate.

They ordered their food, and then a silence lapsed when Marinette and Alya switched seats so that Alya and Nino could sit next to each other. So now Marinette was squashed between Alya and Adrien, who was the furthest from Nino.

She snorted to herself. If this was a plan to force Adrien and herself on a date, then Alya and Nino were doing a spectacularly bad job. She watched them for a moment, but when the hug transitioned into a kiss, she turned away. There was absolutely no desire to see her friends in that light.

Marinette turned to Adrien in an effort to block out the spectacle happening next to her. “How are you?”

He looked surprised before he responded. “Good. You?”

She shrugged. “Fine. Not much.” There was a pause as she struggled to find something to talk about. Marinette glanced over at Alya and Nino, who was still busy doing whatever they were doing. “Just the design competition going on, really.”

“How’s it going?” Adrien leaned forward.

“I’ve got some ideas down. They’re almost done.”

He nodded. “That sounds good.” They lapsed into another silence.

“I just went fabric shopping today,” she offered. “Do you have any allergies?”

He shook his head. “Just feathers. They make me sneeze a lot.”

She laughed, remembering the time when they had to face of Mr. Pigeon. “I should’ve known. Remember when Mr. Pigeon was at large?”

He snorted. “Thank god that battle was done quickly. I don’t think I would’ve lasted another five minutes at the end.”

“Yeah. He had one of the strangest powers I’ve ever seen.”

“The power of summoning pigeons had never seemed so ominous until that day.” His face looked so serious.

“I can’t even look at pigeons now without thinking of his weird coo.” She dissolves into giggles. A moment later, he joins in.

“Aren’t you guys friendly,” Alya said over Marinette’s shoulder. “I knew there was something up when we were talking over Skype.”

“Alya!” She hissed. “Let’s not go back to that time.” She really didn’t want to offend Adrien by broadcasting how she used to feel about him, even if he probably knew already.

Nearby, Nino was winking at Adrien, who ducked his head, a flush spreading across the back of his neck.  

“Hey, you guys want to go anywhere after this?” Nino asked.

Marinette shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got designs to mock up, but I do that tomorrow. I need a break from the creative process anyways.”

Alya asked, “So how many designs have you gotten down now?”

“Three or four,” Marinette answered.

“Do you need any more inspiration? We could go shopping.” A wicked grin spread across her face. “You know I have great taste.”

Marinette winced. “Alya, after that plume peacock hat you picked out for me last time, I don’t think we should trust your opinion anymore. Nino’s, though, I could get behind.” She smiled at her friend. “Remember that beautiful scarf that you sent me?”

“The beautiful scarf that you said was for a friend’s birthday?” Adrien broke in. “Neutral tones, camel check?”

“Yes, actually,” Marinette blinked. “How did you know?”

“Ah,” Nino said guiltily. “I may have asked Adrien to pick out one.”

“You do pick up things from being in the fashion industry,” Adrien shrugged. “Fashion being one of them.”

“It was wonderful, though.” Marinette sighed. “You should go shopping with me. We can pick out Alya and Nino’s clothes.”

“Hey! Don’t corral Adrien into shopping! Marinette’s so _picky,_ ” Alya whispered loudly. “ _Hours_ and _hours_ of staring at blouses of two different shades.”

“Oh, I know,” Adrien muttered back. “Marinette made me try on clothes for inspiration. So. many. clothes. _I_ see so many clothes all the time, and this one rivaled the biggest collections I’ve seen. She even made me wear women’s wear. Dresses!” he hissed in mock horror. “The floofy ones, the tight ones that suffocate you, the ones with neckline so low that you feel naked.”

Alya and Nino laughed, giggling at Marinette’s expense while the girl in question tried not to feel too guilty about it. “Well, at least there’s inspiration, I guess. So you’ll be poked with less needles during the fittings.”

“That’s how you know it was bad,” Alya snickered. “When Marinette tries to justify something, it was bad.”

“Yeah. Sorry, Adrien. The artist took over.”

“It’s fine, Marinette. You have no idea how my father gets when he lacks inspiration.”

She flicked a glance at him, thinking of the Agreste Akuma they’d vanquished the other night, and then muffled her laugh when she realized no one else at the table knew she was Ladybug yet. “I can imagine.”

When they walk out of the café, Alya pulls Marinette aside, hissing into her ear. “He wasn’t bad at all. Marinette, you don’t hate him, you like him!”

Marinette turned her head behind her. Nino and Adrien were standing to the side, chatting.

“What? No, no, it’s not like that! We just...agreed to put our differences away.”

“So you’re all civil now.”

“Yes! That’s exactly it.”

“Yeah, Marinette, that’s what we call an acquaintance.” Alya fixed her friend with an eagle-eyed gaze. “You guys look like close friends. When did you even get the time to create inside jokes when you told me that all you did was argue?”

 _When we were Ladybug and Chat Noir,_ Marinette thought, but she wisely kept her mouth shut.

“Surprise?” she tried instead, attempting a wink.

“Maybe.” Alya sighed and looked straight at Marinette. “If that boy hurts you, you come to me and I’ll rip him a new one.”

“I don’t think it’s like that, Alya. You’re right; we’re just friends. But I’ll come to you if anything happens,” she added when Alya’s frown appeared. She waited for Alya to continue, Alya took Marinette’s arm instead.  

“It’s been good seeing you. But you still haven’t brought me around to your parents’ bakery.”

She relaxed. “As if you hadn’t been there already.”

“Yeah, but how could I go around there without their daughter first?”

Marinette shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You know it.”

Alya reached over and gave Marinette a huge hug. “It’s been good seeing you too, Alya. We’ve really got to do this more some time.” Her arms squeezed and then let go.

She waved goodbye as Alya headed off with Nino; they had all said their goodbyes earlier, and Adrien had left already.

Marinette felt a little weird when she realized that Adrien hadn’t waited for her, but then why should he? They had a truce; they were nothing more than friends, that was all. It was a marriage of convenience. Well, for Marinette and Adrien, she amended in her head. Ladybug and Chat Noir were a completely different matter. But, if she was willing to admit that much to herself, then she could go a step further. Marinette and Adrien weren’t much different after all.

 

* * *

 

Adrien hummed to himself as he walked down the street to the local market. He’d promised Plagg the two wheels of Camembert, and the kwami had bugged him about it the entire day.

It felt nice, being outside with his friends, chatting and laughing and eating (well, in his case, drinking coffee). He loved seeing Nino and Alya together: while he disliked the matching system itself, his friends represented the love he wanted to find for himself one day.

Although, while the thing he had with Marinette was hard to define, he could say that he genuinely like having her as a friend. She was funny, intelligent, and owned up to her mistakes. It wouldn’t be a bad marriage, he thinks, if he had to marry her.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been doing a few short stories, and I've been feeling good about them. Hence, the chapter you've just read. 
> 
> Thoughts, anyone?


	10. Fashion Waits for No Man (or Woman)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!

Marinette put the finishing touches on the pants as she carefully hemmed in the bottom. Tikki flew around, excited to see Plagg again – they had standing dates to see each other whenever Adrien and Marinette met up. Meetings had become more often so Plagg and Tikki could spend more time together. They’d be having one in a few minutes, and as perfectionist (and procrastinator) that Marinette knew she was, she was still adjusting the clothes.

Straightening up, she cast an appraising glance at her creation. The mannequin, dressed in the mock shirt and trousers, stood proudly in the corner. There was a sample belt hood around its hips – and she’d already found the belt buckle and leather. Thank god for small mercies.

A corkboard nearby was filled with sample patterns that she was contemplating using. She’d been leaning towards East-Asian-inspired waves in a pale blue, but there were also animals in cartoon and realistic styles, a few too many tree and leaf designs, and a pastel-pink pony pattern just for fun.

Marinette would bring all of them to compare with Adrien’s skin tone and to get his opinion as a fashion-savvy model, but the decision would ultimately be hers. Besides, she also needed to know where the pattern placement should be. No need for an awkward cut-off cat head near the shirt collar, she reminded herself, although that shirt had been particularly funny back in the eighth grade. Alya had teased her about beheaded pet akumas for a week.  

A _ping_ rang in the air, and the new text informed her that Adrien was on his way to her apartment shortly to try out the designs. There was a few weeks left before the end of the competition, and the quicker she could get the mock-ups adjusted to his body, the better.

Tikki suddenly materialized next to Marinette. “Adrien’s here,” she informed Marinette in her squeaky voice.

“Oh, thanks, Tikki,” Marinette blinked. A black kwami materialized next to Tikki – Plagg, Marinette remembered – and after a quick hello, zoomed off into the kitchen to check out the food she’d laid out. Tikki dove right after her brother.

Marinette had checked with her roommate if it was alright for Adrien to come over, and the girl had said it was fine, since she had a class to go anyway. Just in time. Three sharp knocks echoed through the apartment, and Marinette hurried to pull the door open. Adrien stood in the hallway, nervously shifting from foot to foot. He held up a box of chocolates.

“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to bring anything, so I-”

“-brought food,” Marinette finished. “Classic. Thank you. You really don’t need to, you know.” He leaned forward to hand her the box anyway when she realized that he was a model and that it was fashion season.

“You’re allowed to eat this, aren’t you?” She waggled the small orange and black box at him.

A guilty look flitted across his face. “One?”

Marinette sighed. “I’ll just put this away for now.” At his hurt look, she added, “It’s a thing of mine that guests should really eat with their hosts; I feel bad if you’re not eating with me, so maybe for another time.”

His face smoothed. “Really, it’s no problem. I’ve gotten used to it.”

She shrugged off his reassurances. It still felt weird to her, so she elected to hold off on the chocolate for another day.

“Would you like a drink?” She tucked the box carefully into her cupboard as Adrien slipped his shoes off and into one of the many slippers she had on a shelf.

“Please. Coffee, if you have any.”

“Milk or sugar?”

“Black, please.”

“Plagg? Tikki? Do you guys want anything?”

“Coffee,” Tikki requested. “Milky sweet.”

“Milk tea,” Plagg circled Marinette’s cabinet, and then phased through the door. “Earl grey?”

“Coming right up.” Plagg had warmed to Marinette over these visits, although Plagg still held Camembert in higher esteem. Tikki enjoyed having Plagg around, and they swirled together before disappearing off somewhere, presumably to meet with Wayzz. She knew from experience that the kwamis would come back to get their drinks later.

Marinette moved to brew the coffee. As the machine trickled hot water through the ground beans, she warmed milk in the microwave, and then added hot chocolate mix to the mug. A square of chocolate and a dash of vanilla followed. Without them, the drink was watery and nearly tasteless, but making the drink the old-fashioned way always took too much time.

Adrien had made himself comfortable at the kitchen table by the time she turned around with the drinks. She set Plagg’s and Tikki’s drinks on the counter, next to Plagg’s small cylinder of camembert cheese and Tikki’s ginger cookies. Adrien accepted his mug with a murmur of thanks, and they drank quietly.

When he’d had his fill, she set her mug down. “Ready to try them on?”

“Sure,” he said, setting the cup down with a clink on the countertop.

He followed her to her bedroom. She carefully pulled the clothes off the mannequin and handed them to him, directing him to the bathroom next door. He emerged a few minutes later in the white clothing, and then stepped onto the step stool as directed.

“Careful,” he warned her when she moved to adjust the pinned collar.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured. “I won’t prick you.”

She quickly made her adjustments, often experimenting with different variations and taking pictures of the different things she wanted to try. Eventually, she settled into a rhythm. Shirt too loose? Pin it. Trousers too tight? Cut the seams, release the extra fabric, and then pin the new measurements accordingly. Adrien shifting around, uncomfortable? Hand him his cup of coffee. Wait. He’s going to spill it. Take the drink away. Throughout it all, she dimly noticed that she was clacking her teeth together, and then reminded herself of teeth injury, and stopped.

Continue working.

“Marinette?” Adrien’s voice cut through the fog. “Do you mind if I take a break?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said absentmindedly, and then was completely blindsided when Adrien made to move off the stool.

“Wait, wait, sorry,” She reached for the clothing. “Do you mind taking it off?”

“I thought it was just a break. Do you want me to change back into regular clothes? It’ll be a hassle to put it on again.”

Marinette shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I think we’re done with the adjustment part today, and I’ve kept you standing long enough.”

“That’s fine. Can I have my coffee, though?”

“Whoops. Sorry about that. I had a nightmarish vision of the drink spilling.”

He reached for the cup and cradled it in his hands. “No worries. It’s a pretty common fear.”

“I know. I spilled some water on my own dress once, and I refused to drink anything out of a mug for a week.”

They shared a grin.

“Hashtag Designers,” Adrien said.

“More like Hashtag paranoia.”

“Maybe more along the lines of overprotective.”

Marinette snorted. “That’s never been truer. Clothes are our babies, didn’t you know?” She opened her mouth to add on something about the Spousal Act, and then realized that probably wasn’t the safest topic.

“Anyways, do you want to take a look at the patterns?” She drew Adrien towards the corkboard. “What do you think?”

She snuck a glance at his face, and then determined that she really didn’t want to stare at him and obsess over every facial expression. “Here, I’ll get you a refill.” She snagged his empty cup from his protesting hand and ducked into her kitchen.

As she turned the coffee machine on again, she set his mug underneath to catch the dripping brews. She made another mug of hot chocolate, and then spontaneously unearthed her package of madeleines her parents had sent her. She arranged them on a plate, and looked up just as Adrien walked out.

“I smell coffee,” he said.

“Here,” she slid his mug towards him. “Have a madeleine.”

“Thanks.” He reached for one, and then paused, guilty look on his face.

“I forgot you couldn’t eat them. You may as well take some, though. What type of host would I be if I allowed my friends to go hungry?”

“The one that actually respects a model’s diet,” Adrien muttered.

“True,” Marinette said, handing the package of sponge cakes to him. “But I’d also feel unreasonably guilty, so do me a favor and pretend that you’re actually going to eat them?”

“How could I not? They’re too delicious to be true.”

“Tell that to my parents. You’ll have a surefire way to get into their hearts.”

“I’d love that, actually.”

“They’ll also attempt to stuff you with pastries galore.”

She cracked a grin at Adrien’s wince. “I wonder how long you’ll last with your model excuse.”

“I’ll just have to give them to my friends. They’ll love it.” He smiled. “It’ll be great.”

“It would be.” She looked away, and then decided to change topics. This one was beaten to death already. “So, what did you think about the patterns?”

“I liked them.” Adrien looked straight at her. “I think my favorite’s the East Asian one, though, the one with the waves. It’s fluid and hard at the same time, and it’s a great vibe, honestly.”

“Thanks,” she grinned. “I was afraid you’d say something along the lines of preferring the pastel pink ponies I’d pinned up there.”

“That was a joke, wasn’t it?” He raised an amused eyebrow. “I quite liked them, but I, well, this is selfish really.”

“No, it’s alright, you can go ahead and say it. I won’t be offended, promise.”

“Okay, then.” He leaned forward and stage-whispered, “I _really_ didn’t want to wear that in front of my father down the runway.”

“He’d probably disqualify me, although  I think that _My Little Pony_ fans would love it,” she said.

“It’d be a hit with toddlers. Say hello to your new career: children’s fashion,” Adrien quipped.

“They’ll be beautiful works of modern art. I’m educating the young about haute couture, really,” she added.

“You deserve an award for that,” Adrien snorted into his cup. “Fashion designers everywhere will praise your patterns of tires, wild emu feathers, and artistic shots of sand.”

“It that where the fashion industry is going? Sand grains?”

Adrien held a finger up to his lips. “Don’t worry, Marinette, it’s a well kept secret.”

“Not anymore! I shall conquer the industry with little bits of rock and silica.”

They snickered together, and Marinette registered just how often they did that together. She wasn’t even trying to extend the meeting; their conversations just flowed. If she really thought about it, meeting with Adrien had become one of the highlights of her day, the way meeting with her other friends or parents did. She guess they really could be called friends, and a warmth bloomed in her chest. 

 

* * *

 

Adrien strolled away from Marinette’s apartment with the small bag of pastries hung over his arm. He slipped his phone out and thumbed at his calendar. There was an hour or so before he had to go for a shoot, and if he remembered correctly, he should’ve had a couple of hours before he was supposed to pose and dress up.

Oh, well. His meeting with Marinette must have run overtime, which was usual for him these days. No wonder why he had left such a large gap between his two commitments.

He took a peek inside the bag. Adrien was strangely touched by Marinette’s attitude towards his eating habits; while they were inconvenient, they were also a part of his job. All of his other friends were already accustomed to Adrien drinking liquids while they ate, and the people in the fashion industry cared that he was healthy, but weren’t overly concerned with his specific intakes. Only Marinette made them an issue, and that made him feel touched. Just another reason, he supposed, he really didn’t mind being matched to her.

Usually, if anyone pressed food upon him, Adrien would just bring it to the shoot and set it with all of the other offerings. He wouldn’t have to eat it or have it rot in the fridge, and Plagg only ate cheese. Besides, the frazzled photographers could really use the sugar.

Adrien opened the bag again for another peek. This time, he really didn’t have the heart to give them to the food table. If he balanced his diet carefully, he could probably fit a cake in within the next day or two. But that would only be one, and Marinette had given him five. If the madeleines were as good as he thought they were (Nino had long extolled the virtues of the Dupain-Cheng bakery and the macarons were _amazing_ ), then his model friends might appreciate them.

Yes, that would be great. It was a group shoot today, one for the spread in the Agreste magazine. He knew a few friends would be there. They’d appreciate the gift, probably break off a bit and nibble at it, and then save if for later, or feed it to the birds, if they didn’t have enough calorie space for the day.

The shoot went well. His friends happily greeted the madeleines. Funnily enough, they all had the space to fit it in because Adrien had, apparently, developed a reputation of bringing pastries to shoots. During a break, one of his friends, Aurore, jokingly mentioned that it’d only started when he was matched with someone new – a girl by the name of Marinette, and wasn’t it cute that he’d been bringing Dupain-Cheng baked goods to all of his shoots afterwards?

Adrien flushed red. “Was it really?”

“Yes,” Aurore patted him on his arm. “They’re magnificent, and you always have a little smile when you do it.”

Huh. So this novel idea of giving pastries to his friends had become a routine by now. He had no idea how much he really appreciated Marinette’s gifts.

Aurore took another morsel of madeleine. “You’re really not as subtle as you think, you know. It’s alright to be infatuated with your match. I mean, we’re always hoping that it’s going to work out, and the system’s been reliable so far.”

Adrien gave her a soft smile. She’d met her match a year ago, and they’d been happily married within five months of meeting. “I hope so. She’s definitely something different.”

“I can tell. Go get her, tiger!” Aurore mimed a roar and curled her hands into claws.

“Oh god, Aurore. What have the Americans taught you?” He gently pushed her off his shoulder amid his laughter.

“Just the best of things.”

 

* * *

 

As the weeks wore on, so did Marinette and Adrien’s friendship. It wasn’t so hard to be around him, Marinette reflected, and Adrien suddenly found himself with more free time than he knew what to do with. There was a suspiciously large gap between shoots some weeks, so he popped over to Marinette’s place for fittings. It was warm and comfortable, and he enjoyed being around her.

The design was moving along smoothly. Marinette absentmindedly noticed that there was a week left before designs had to be sent in, and the outfit was already finished, a combination of good luck and an easy belt.

Perhaps there would be a few last adjustments before the deadline, but she knew from experience that systems were often backed up during the holidays. She’ll simply send her entry  in today, then.

Marinette stepped out of her apartment and walked into Adrien’s chest.

“So-sorry!” She blushed furiously and attempted to pedal backwards, only to discover that she had locked the door behind her. Her key had landed somewhere in the vicinity when it flew out of her from the force of collision, so Marinette cursed furiously and prayed for Tikki to open up the door inside.

Plagg popped out from Adrien’s pocket and rushed through the door. She could hear high-pitched giggling inside, and resigned herself to being locked outside.

She wanted to die from mortification. She was so, so embarrassed. Her cheeks were probably flaming by now. How could she just _walk into Adrien’s chest?_

“Kill me now,” she muttered, only to hear Adrien reply, “Can’t. No lethal weapons, sorry.”

“Oh god,” she said, and then repeated, “kill me.”

“Marinette,” she hears an exasperated voice say above her, “It’s really not the end of the world.”

She lifted her head. “Sorry.”

Adrien grinned at her. “No apologies needed. I think it’s a short person thing.”

“Pretty much.” She lifted her head to look up at him properly. “Doesn’t it ever get annoying?”

He stepped back and retrieved her key, handing it her in one smooth motion. “Not really, no. Where are you going?” he motioned at her bag.

“Agreste headquarters. The design’s ready to be submitted, I think, and I need to drop it off at the receptionist’s office,” she explained.

“Mind if I go with you?”

“Why would I? Do you have any business with them today?” She tucked the key into her pocket, adjusted the white canvas bag was over her arm, and set off towards the elevators. Adrien fell into step beside her. Tikki and Plagg dove into the bag, Plagg carrying a bit of cheese he’d unearthed from Marinette’s fridge.

“I came to see you since I had a bit of free time before the next shoot.” He shrugged.  
“Might as well accompany you to where you’re going. The shoot’s at the building, and all the models arrive early anyways.”

“Sounds good.” They talked throughout the walk, chit chatting about nothing in particular. Adrien remarked that he hadn’t heard her teeth grind for a bit. She’d be collecting on the reward soon, then? Marinette laughed and said she’d probably just have him buy her a few supplies.

The exchange went smoothly. Marinette handed over her work, was thanked for her time and effort, and then handed a small notecard confirming her application and the last day for fittings before the models wore the clothes for the judges.

Upon catching sight of the Adrien, the receptionist whisked him off into the interior of the building. Marinette laughingly waved him good-bye as he attempted to keep up with the other man’s pace, doubling over when she spotted the small black and red blurs zooming around Adrien’s head and then diving back into the white canvas bag.

It wasn’t until she went home – stepping into her apartment and looking around – that she realized that something was wrong. Could it be her work? No, everything had been in order. Was Tikki gone? Marinette could clearly hear Tikki and Plagg chatting away. She felt cold, all of a sudden, and it was only when Tikki zoomed out of the room that Marinette realized what was missing.

She’d gotten used to the gently pulsing warmth in the center of her chest whenever she was around someone close to her. So she was missing companionship? It couldn’t be; she’d seen all of her friends within the last two weeks, and she’d been thinking that she’d be happy to get a moment to herself. Tikki was here, and so was Plagg, so that was two other presences here beside her. The warmth in her chest was still there, but it had dimmed, which wasn’t unusual. But what was strange was how sensitive she was to it.

When was the last time she felt this way? She couldn’t remember. Had she ever felt like this? Yes, but that was when Alya was leaving for Africa, when she was graduating from high school, when she overheard a boy she had a crush on remark to his friends that he didn’t really like Marinette.

Oh.

There it was.

She had a crush.

And a large one, at that.

Thank god, really. They were already matched, and they had to marry each other anyways. Besides, Adrien didn’t mind spending time with her – their meetings kept going overtime, and he’d happily shown up to accompany her on a walk he didn’t sign up for.

And, she reflected a little guiltily, it would definitely help with the thing Master Fu was talking about. They’d simply power up the Miraculouses, Tikki wouldn’t have to go in for treatments anymore (they’d gone in once a week now), and best of all, Adrien and she wouldn’t be absorbed by the Miraculouses for energy.

Perfect. Wonderful. But just because Adrien didn’t mind spending time with her didn’t mean that he, liked her, did it?

Well. There was only one way to find out.

 

* * *

 

“Master Fu!” Marinette knocked on the door. “Is this a good time for me to come in?”

The door swung open. “Come in, Marinette. You’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” She stepped into the airy room.

“I was just explaining to Adrien the answer to his question. Perhaps you’d like to hear it too.”

“Adrien?” She winced at how her voice shot up at the end of the question.

“Hey, Marinette.” Adrien waved from his seat on the floor. “I was just asking Master Fu how we could tell if the Miraculous had been powered or not.”

“Oh. Huh.” She paused. “I was just about to ask the same thing.”

“Interesting.” Marinette really didn’t like Master Fu’s enigmatic smile right now, but he was her only source for answers. “As I was saying to Adrien, the Miraculouses are powered when they obtain a slight gleam around the edges – not a glittering light, but a glossy shine like they’ve been dipped into oil. It can be a bit unnatural at times, but most people usually think it’s a trick of the light.”

“Thanks, Master Fu,” Marinette said. She really needed check out those earrings in the bathroom mirror.

“Do you mind if I inquire as to why you felt you needed to ask this question?” He waited, a small smile curling the edges of his lips.

“Ah….” What could she say, that she had a crush on Adrien and she wanted to know if he reciprocated by seeing if the Miraculous were powered? “I noticed that Tikki had been energetic lately, and I wondered if powering the Miraculous would be an indication that she’s getting better.”

“You are correct, Marinette. While a rise in kwami energy could be attributed to the powering of the Miraculous, it is also an indication of new and strong positive relationships – romantic or platonic – in the holder’s life.”

“So Tikki’s alright now?”

“I think Tikki will be fine. Just bring her around for one last checkup, if you will, just to be safe.”

“Thanks again,” Marinette repeated. “I’m really sorry for interrupting your session like this.”

“No worries, Marinette.”

“I’ll see you next week, Master Fu. There’s something I’ve got to do. See you next time, Adrien!”

“Bye!”

Master Fu shut the door behind Marientte’s pattering footsteps. “Could you check your ring, Adrien?”

Adrien held the ring up to the light. It looked like a thin film of oil was on the top. “I think it’s gleaming like you said.”

Master Fu strode over and checked himself. “Good.” He smiled and patted Adrien’s shoulder. “My dear boy, after that display, I’m quite sure the girl reciprocates your affections.”

Adrien flushed. “Thanks, Master Fu. I’ll be going now.” He hugged his mentor.

“Take care, Adrien. When will I be seeing you again?”

“Probably next week. There’s probably something to solve, and I don’t think I’ve finished reading the book yet.”

“Next week it is. Goodbye.”

“ ‘Til next time it is.” With a wave, Adrien set off into the street. The door closed with a _snick._

“Those two are destined to be with each other,” Master Fu commented. By his side, Wayzz nodded.

 

* * *

 

Black earrings gleamed in the mirror.

Marinette closed her eyes and coasted on a wave of elation. She flipped open her laptop to call Alya.

 

* * *

 

Gloved hands clenched in anger as butterfly brooch dimmed to a dark, dull purple.

“I’m coming for you,” voice rasped in anger. “Don’t you forget it, Master Fu.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Master Fu is apparently great at giving life advice? Who knew?
> 
> Also - Plagg likes Earl Grey. I like Earl Grey milk tea. What do you like?
> 
> Thoughts, anyone?


	11. The End is Near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're nearing the end with this. I'm excited and a bit sad at the same time. Anyhow, enjoy!

Glistening oil.

Glowing rings.

A locket.

A clenched fist.

Screams into the dark.

 

* * *

 

Squeals, really. So many squeals. Marinette curled up into herself in happiness as Alya’s shrieks transmitted through the laptop.

“Good for you, girl!” Alya’s smiling face beamed from the screen. “I knew this would happen.”

“Mmm, it’s nice to know that my feelings were reciprocated, and that I’ll finally have a successful match.”

“You deserve it. Seriously,” Alya added when Marinette opened her mouth in protest. “I just want you happy under the current system.”

Marinette cast a smile back at her friend. “Thanks, Alya.”

“So when are you two going to pick each other?”

“I don’t know.” Marinette shrugged. “It hasn’t been that long, and we’ve still got about four months left.”

Alya shook her head. “I’d recommend filing things a little earlier. The license has to come through before those six months are up, and the request can take a few weeks to be processed.” Alya grimaced. “You’d think they’d do things faster, but it’s almost as if the place employs ten sloths year round. Nothing gets done.”

“Like the DMV? Got it,” Marinette rocked back on her bed, tilting the computer so she could still see Alya. “So I should probably bring this up to Adrien a little earlier than I was planning?”

“Definitely. I’m pretty sure he’ll take it well, and it’s a lot easier than you think it is. Just bring it up during dinner or something.”

“Like you did to Nino? He choked on his wine, from what I’ve heard.”

“Then don’t bring it up while he’s drinking something. I had a bit of bad timing. I mean, when I checked before asking he wasn’t drinking anything, but when the question actually came out, he was gulping down the wine.”

Marinette snorted. “I know. And Nino maintains that he _was_ about to drink and that a hand on the wine glass is enough of an indication.”

“He puts his hand on glasses all the time without actually taking a sip,” Alya huffed. “Anyways, if you do ask around the next two or three months, you guys’ll fall just around the holiday season.”

“Which means that everything’s going to be _even slower,_ ” Marinette groaned.

“Yeah, that’s probably what you’re going to find yourself in.”

She sighed. “That’s fine. Seriously, thanks for telling me. You know how I am with my deadlines.”

“Still pushing them to the last minute?” Alya grinned. “I distinctly remember that English essay you turned in electronically a minute before the deadline.”

“I’ve changed and grown, Alya. I actually turned in my entry for the design contest two weeks early.”

“Congrats! I –” Alya was cut off by a loud a bang outside. A puff of dust trickled down in front of her window and Marinette caught a glimpse of a wizard – a wizard? – hopping on the window ledge outside.

“Come face me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”howled a bespectacled young man with a lightning scar on his forehead. Harry Potter? What the –

She dove under the bed as the window blasted inward, scattering glass and wood debris all over her room.

“Marinette!” Alya shrieked. “Run!”

“Call you later, Alya! Tikki!” She severed the connection and grabbed her emergency bag with its snacks, money and phone. Marinette dashed into the kitchen, hauling herself up and out through the window and onto the emergency exit of the balcony. A red blur and a flash later, Ladybug was swinging through the streets.

Why was there a _Harry Potter,_ of all things, chasing her? She hadn’t offended anyone in recent memory, unless if she had accounted for the pedestrian she’d cut off from crossing the road, and he definitely did not know her well enough to have her address. Had Hawkmoth somehow convinced an akuma that she was to blame for some unknown crime? And _how_ did he even find out about her identity anyways?

Ladybug skidded to a stop on the roof of an office building and ducked behind a column to catch her breath. She took a peek, cautiously sticking her head out, only to discover that the akuma was nowhere to be seen. Odd. Perhaps he was hiding, so then her best set of plans would be to keep searching for safe ground and call Chat.

She dug out her phone and tapped out a quick text, praying that he’d get here quickly. Taking another look around, Ladybug leaped off the edge.

A red lob of light streaked past her. A pigeon fell from the sky. “Come back, you coward, and let’s have a proper duel!”

Ladybug risked a backwards glance at her pursuant as she took a sharp right turn, swinging herself into the path of the Eiffel Tower. A furious Draco Malfoy rode a broomstick, brandishing a wand in his hand. If the spell was a stunner, then his priority was to incapacitate, not kill. She thanked an unknown entity for small mercies. Although, was there more than one assailant?

Never mind that. She’d continue with her priority of finding high ground where she could stay safe. She’d already contacted Chat, and she wished, not for the first time, that they had some sort of internal system that transmitted when there were akuma attacks so they could help each other out in time.

Thankfully, Chat didn’t seem to be far this time. “Hey,” he said, suddenly popping up beside her, “so what’d you do to make Yuri Plisetsky so mad?”

“Yuri?”

Sure enough, a small blond skater in leopard print streaked after them on skates; wherever the blades touched, the road turned to ice.

“He wasn’t Yuri the last time I saw. It was Draco Malfoy chasing me!”

Chat managed to shrug in midair. “Let’s go the Eiffel Tower, yeah? This akuma seems like a handful.”

“Sure. We’ll almost there.”

What should’ve been a few leaps and bounds turned into a lengthy chase around the districts of Paris. Yuri, it seemed, could create ice anywhere , even in the middle of the air, where sheets of ice had no right to be. He delighted in striking out with a particularly sharp blade or managing impossible jumps – hello, quad axel – to horrify and injure pedestrians, forcing Chat and Ladybug to corral the young skater away from the scene. They wasted valuable time and energy luring him away fascinated viewers, but eventually managed to draw him to a wide open plaza of the Eiffel Tower where people had more space to get away.

“I think he’s a shapeshifter,” Ladybug confessed as they baited Yuri on a merry chase. “I’ve seen three different people, all at different times. Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and now this character.”

“It’s probably just one akuma without any self-replicating abilities, then. We can probably tempt him into changing into something stupid. Offend anyone today?”

“Not that I know of.”

They had reached the top of the metal structure. Ladybug peered down at Yuri, who had begun entertaining a crowd.

“Isn’t interesting, though, the characters the akuma chooses to turn into? And I’ve never seen a purple mask pop up on him.”

“None?” Ladybug turned towards Chat. “I’d assume there’d be at least one instance where Hawkmoth felt the need to control the akuma within this time.”

Chat shook his head. “Not a single one. And the akuma’s so powerful, too. We’ve seen some that can spawn pale imitations, but there’s never been one that shape shifts into fictional characters and maintains their powers.”

Ladybug’s mental gears began to turn. “Master Fu never mentioned that Miraculous holders can’t use their powers on themselves.”

“But we know that we can; we’ve experimented with it.” Right, when Marinette was a younger Ladybug, she’d rig the odds in her favor to help get closer to her crushes.

“So we’re potentially dealing with Hawkmoth.”

“Pretty much.”

Ladybug shuddered. “We’ve never faced off against him before. What’s made him so desperate?”

Suddenly, a pink projectile headed their way. “Give me your Miraculous!”

Ladybug toppled off the Tower in surprise. “I’m fine!” she yelled as she threw her yo-yo to snag one of the Tower’s metal supports. Chat landed beside her.

“Who knew Hawkmoth was such a fan of Harry Potter?”

“Umbridge really does resemble a toad, doesn’t she?”

“I heard that!” A woman waddled towards them. Her image rippled like a mirage in the desert heat before reforming into an old, wizened man with white hair and a staff.

“Gandalf the White? Seriously?” They watched the man warily as he attempted to block the exits (the air spaces in the metal structures) around them.

“You shall not pass!” He (she?) slammed the wooden staff down, sending reverberating vibrations through the metal. Chat and Ladybug leaped for safety, swinging from the Tower to perch on one of the buildings nearby.

The Tower trembled and held, but barely.

“We’ve got to lure her away from here,” Ladybug muttered.

“I think the water’ll do fine. There’s plenty of bridges and they’re close enough to lead her on a merry chase, but far enough to keep her away from harming others.”

“Let’s go for it.”

“Let’s.” Chat leaped away first to scout out a plan while Ladybug lured the akuma – Hawkmoth? Thinking of that was too daunting – towards the water.

She’d have bet on the akuma being rather intelligent, considering who they thought was under the mask, but the akumas had all behaved rather dully while being controlled with strong, negative emotions. Their machinations had led to the creation of frustrating, if relatively simple barriers, though. She wondered what the akuma would come up with. Speaking of which, why hadn’t the akuma announced its name yet?

This time, when she scanned the afternoon sky for a Gandalf, she saw a werewolf racing towards her instead. She squinted. It seemed to have murderous blue eyes and a badly burned face. “Peter Hale,” she taunted (all those afternoons watching TV finally paid off), “you’re still a psychopathic monster, aren’t you?”

The werewolf didn’t twitch. Knowing Peter, he’d accepted that fact long ago.

She sighed. Time to go for a classic. It probably wouldn’t work. “Well, you’re fat!”

It skidded to stop and perked its ears. Was it working?

“Didn’t you hear me the first time? You’re fat! Chubby! Round as a rolly polly!”

The werewolf shimmered and morphed into Jessica Rabbit. “These are curves, you idiot! Which you have none of!”

Ladybug blinked. She really didn’t think that would’ve worked. Now, she just needed to get the name and the infected object.

“So, uh, why me?” Ladybug threw over her shoulder as she began to head towards the Seine. Jessica Rabbit began to run after her in an astonishingly fast pace for someone wearing heels.

“Why not, Marinette?” It was a shock to hear that sultry voice snarling her name. And her civilian name, no less. Ladybug hoped that once they got over the water, only Chat and she would be close enough to hear what the villain was saying.

“You’ve ruined all of my plans! Years of careful orchestration, messing with the government documents so you’d never find your match. Now I’ll never get my heart’s desire back! It’s all _your_ fault!”

She glanced over her shoulder. The cartoon character was catching up, but the bridge was just a hundred feet away. Ladybug made a running leap onto the nearest structure, perching on the stone skeleton, only to be slammed into the water by a large, scaly foot.

Ladybug gasped for air as she bobbed at the surface. Blinking the water from her eyes, she squinted at a blurry Chat battling a velociraptor. He seemed to be weaving around the dinosaur, distracting it with his claws and fangs, but when he nearly had the thing cornered, it rippled. A few seconds later, Chat was squashed under a bellowing cow, followed by a chirping songbird, and then great white shark. The fish seemed to asphyxiate before changing into Hagrid.

Well.

Clearly, something had to be done. Chat wasn’t holding his own well, although he’d managed to get to a further distance, keeping the akuma’s attention focused on him. She crawled out of the water and reached for her Lucky Charm, sighing when a ball of elastic string fell into her arms.

She didn’t have any ideas about what to do with it right now, so she stowed it away and rejoined the fight.

The most frustrating thing about this akuma was that it kept changing shape. It changed into all sorts of characters of different shapes and sizes, making it hard to trap and difficult to evade. And it never stated its name.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Chat shouted. Clearly, he’d picked up on the odd quirk as well.

“I’ve got no name!” The akuma suddenly rippled and transformed into a naked girl with a shell necklace. The girl’s face grimaced with every step she took.

“No name?” Chat repeated. “You have to have one!”

The akuma rippled again, but remained in the girl’s form. “I’ve got no name,” she ground out.

The infected always had names and a focus object. Since the name was always a reflection of the power the object gave them, then if this akuma was nameless, then it should have no power. But it seemed to be the strongest of all they’ve faced.

“Everything’s got a name,” Chat insisted. The akuma rippled but stayed put as the girl. Interesting.

“Just give me your Miraculouses and I’ll be off!” it snarled instead, easily transforming into a hawk.

Chat and Ladybug dodged the diving bird. She nudged Chat, nodding at him. He dove for the akuma, comprehending that she had a plan.

If the akuma suffered from problems when names were mentioned, what would happen if Ladybug ordered the akuma to do something name-related?

“Name that!” she yelled, waving a finger wildly in the air.

“The sky!” the girl squawked. She fell from midair, clutching her shell necklace. “It’s the sky!”

“Name that!” Ladybug repeated, moving her hand around in a circle.

The akuma began to babble, reeling off everything Ladybug’s finger could even possibly be pointing at. The lady’s Gucci shoes, her illegal pet monkey, the dog in the corner, a cumulus cloud, the sediment in the Seine; the akuma’s voice blended into the humming background.

Chat, bless him, activated Cataclysm and drew a circle of destruction around the girl. Ladybug quickly used the elastic string to tie her to the lampposts on the bridge. She was successfully suspended in the air as the bottom of the bridge crashed into the Seine.

“The necklace, Chat!” Ladybug called out. The girl had been furiously caressing the shell as she was being suspended over a mess of rock and water. Even if she’d only seen it appear on this form, Ladybug had a hunch that the shell was the focus object.

He danced forward, snagging the shell necklace off the girl’s neck while she snarled at him in vain. He crushed it under his heel, and sure enough, a gleaming purple butterfly fluttered from the shards. One quick purification and a restoration later, a pointy, middle-aged man sat slumped in the middle of the street.

“Keep him there, would you?” Ladybug motioned at her earrings, which were blinking with one spot left. “I’ll de-transform and come back.” Her partner nodded, advancing towards the man.

Ladybug backed away slowly, carefully watching the man’s hand in his pocket. He seemed to fumble with something inside before he triumphantly pinned a dull violet button on his collar. 

“Nooroo, transform me!” A great flash of purple light, a theatrical arm gesture, and a loud _thunk!_

Chat stood over the unconscious man, his baton raised. He rushed forward and quickly unpinned the Miraculous from the Hawkmoth’s shirt while shielding the object from a passerby’s view.

“Got him,” Chat said lightly. One clawed hand dropped the brooch into a leather pocket.

“Ooh, nice. I’ll call the cops.” Ladybug rushed underneath the bridge, hanging from a slight handhold. She knew Tikki hated transforming twice without break, but Tikki would do it in desperate cases, which this akuma definitely qualified as.

A split second later, a newly charged Ladybug was landing beside Chat, who’d also taken a breather. His ring was no longer blinking.

 

* * *

 

Marinette slumped over on her bed, snoring. It’d been a long week of running and revelations, and she needed sleep if she wanted to be functional the next day.

A knock sounded at the door.

Or not.

Adrien and his ridiculous blond hair stood in the doorway. A black blur sped off to meet Tikki, and the two of them disappeared through an open window.

“Hey,” she waved at him half-heartedly. “What’s up?”

“A lot of things,” he said.

“Wrong question,” she said. “I meant, how are you?”

“Alright.” He did look a little worse for wear, but then so would she if she discovered that Hawkmoth was actually a long lost uncle.

“Come on in.” She ushered him inside and made him a cup of coffee. She made herself one too, hoping the caffeine and the heat would keep her awake.

“What’s the verdict with Master Fu? Discovered anything new?”

He shook his head. “Not much. Nooroo’s still in an unresponsive state. Master Fu thinks that’s for his own protection, but he doesn’t know why Nooroo still hasn’t come out of it yet.” Adrien curled his hands around the mug. “It’s probably up to the kwami to awaken, since everything Master Fu’s tried has been .”

In other words, the butterfly Miraculous was no better than a bauble found on the street. “I wonder if that’ll change when Felix gets out of police custody.”

“Apparently, after a long stint of evil like that, the Miraculous needs to rest. The book doesn’t say how long, though.”

“Ah, I see.” Marinette paused, wondering how she could carefully broach the next topic. “So, um, how’s work?”

“Good.” He ducked his head down, clearly not in the mood to talk about Felix or any other serious matter. He did, however, look in need of a nap.

“You look tired. I’ve got some space for a nap if you’d like,” she offered. “Seriously, it’s no trouble. The couch is pretty comfortable.”

He lifted his head, then shook it slowly. “No, I couldn’t intrude.”

“It’s not intruding if I’m offering it to you,” she pointed out. “Besides, you look dead on your feet. Think of the poor photographer and the makeup artist.”

“Ha ha,” Adrien said. “They’ve dealt with worse before.”

“Right.” She walked around to her closet and dug out a spare pillow and a blanket. “Here,” she heaped them into his arms, “these’ll do the trick. I’ve got more pillows and blankets from where those came from.” Marinette pushed him towards the couch.

“I can wake you up if you’ve got anymore appointments today, but I think you’re guaranteed at least an hour because it’s our match meeting time.”

“Thanks. Could you wake me up at 4?”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll keep watch. Call if you need anything.”

She retired to her bedroom as Adrien settled on the couch. He’d be useless unless he got some rest, and so would she, but she had to go sort through some things first.

Flicking open the browser tab that she’d closed before her nap, Marinette settled in front of her laptop. Her official Ladybug email account was flooded with notifications and emails, especially with ones from law enforcement. She sighed, and then read over the three starred ones again.

_Dear Ms. Dupain-Cheng,_

_We regret to inform you that we have made an inexcusable error within our matching system. Please call this number to discuss this issue with us further._

_Sincerely,_

_The Match France_

What was that supposed to even mean? She already knew that the system made mistakes, since she’d wasted a match on it, but this was the first time she’d gotten an email about an “issue.” Just what did they want to discuss? Sometimes, she wondered what would’ve happened if she didn’t mention Felix’s suspicious comments about tampering to the police, but she didn’t know it would’ve led to a match system notification. Usually, nothing good came out of those.

Marinette exhaled heavily, and then resolved to shove the issue to the side for now. She’d call within the next week or so; finals were looming but she was sure she’d find the time to deal with this email.

Which brought her to the next bomb sitting in her inbox.

Chat and Ladybug had asked the cops to forward a file on all they had of the man who’d been arrested. Reluctant at first, the law enforcement eventually caved when the superheroes pointed out that the man had been causing problems for everyone. If the cops refused to help, then the two would withdraw cooperation with the government – no more press conferences, speeches, or public reassurances that built up the government’s image. The threat would take; after all these years, the French officials still haven’t identified what exactly Ladybug’s and Chat’s powers were, and the government wouldn’t take the risk of losing public approval.

Apparently, the man who was Hawkmoth also went by the name Felix Agreste. He’d dropped off the map after his last failed match, and disappeared into the bowels of society, only to reappear again. Adrien, apparently, had never heard of him, although the man’s age and last name indicated some relation. She’d wondered if he’d take it well at the time, but it was clear from his eye bags and ruffled hair that he didn’t.

Of course, being ambushed by the press didn’t help. Gabriel dealt with it by shutting himself into his mansion, but Adrien couldn’t escape it so easily. Models had photo shoots, after all, and those had a tendency to take place outside in public view.

Marinette put her head down, resting it on her arms, and set the alarm to four. She’ll deal with it then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that the identity of Hawkmoth veers from canon, but I didn't want Gabriel Agreste to be a psychopathic murderer because there is no way that Adrien turned out as well as he did otherwise. 
> 
> Like the akuma? Hate the akuma? Tell me about in the comments, please. They really do make my day.
> 
> Happy new year!


	12. This Is It

It’s an interesting prospect to consider. She could go meet another person, get that second (sixth) chance that she’d dreamed of. Break off that bond, keep Adrien firmly in the friend zone, and finally, finally advance their professional relationship.

A pipe dream is a pipe dream, but when the smoke’s hazy and misty, there’s few reminders of reality. Marinette sat back and dreamed of the door the matchmaking services had just handed her, and wondered if she could get out.

 ***

Looking back, she thought about it the way she thought about her college decisions. It was almost like yes, she has _options,_ but on the other hand, she’s just going to say no to them anyway. Maybe she’ll entertain the thought for a while longer, just to satisfy her own giggles that she actually _beat the matching department_ , and then carefully pass the opportunity along to someone else who sorely needs it. Goodness knows that by declining many of her acceptance letters on time, spots on the waitlist opened up to her fellow anxious students. Marinette decided that she’ll send her regrets in later, in perhaps a day or two. Besides, she already liked Adrien too much to say no.

She hoped that he liked her enough that he’ll say yes. Who needed a ring when there was a delightful certificate of marriage from the government sitting on the bedside drawer? (Who was she kidding, she’d take a ring any day).

 

* * *

 

Adrien, surprisingly, was easily found. Well, she amended, she doesn’t find him – he found her in the grocery store near the tomatoes.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hello,” she replied absently. The fruit (high school bio’s taught her that technically most edible “vegetables” were fruits too) was softer than she liked, so after a final prod, she set it back into the pile of its brethren. Surely, there were some decent tomatoes hiding in this pile, right?

She spotted a more promising one. Its flesh was firm and the skin was a pleasing red, so she dropped it into her basket.

“How are you?” He’s looking a little peaky, but that might just be from the harsh fluorescent lights of the supermarket.

“Good.” Clearly, it’s a rote answer. “You?” Social niceties were still robotically programmed into everyone, apparently.

“Fine. Well, fine as I’ll ever be.” She considered another tomato in the silence, and then added the subpar specimen of fruit along with her other tomato. That was two; she now has enough to make egg and fried tomato for dinner. Now, for the garlic.

Marinette hoisted her basket up from the ground and marched in the direction of the garlic bulbs, and then sidetracks to the racks of tofu when she realized she just wants to eat it raw. Silken or soft? So many choices to choose from, so little space in her stomach.

Adrien had followed her to the racks of tofu. It was unlike him to be so quiet, and in the softer lights of the display, the shadows under his eyes deepened. Ah. So it wasn’t just the lighting; Adrien was actually sick. She had to quash down the urge to ruffle his hair and hug him. He probably wouldn’t welcome those impulses right now.

“You don’t look well.” She frowned, and then remembered that he had probably sought her out for a reason. “Did you have something you needed to do?”

His forehead wrinkled. It was a little cute, and she wondered if he didn’t do it more because he didn’t want premature lines or if he just wasn’t confused often. “Yes, actually. I was wondering if you also got an email from the match department?”

She blinked. “Yeah.” She slid her eyes back to the rack to give herself an excuse of not looking at his face. “Was yours about the chance of finding another match?”

He nodded. “They said that they had messed up one of my choices, and that I was now entitled to another chance, but that it would be my last one.”

“Oh. Me too.” A little glob of something froze and clunked to the bottom of her belly. Why was he bringing this up? Did he want to take that chance? “So, are you going to take it?” She reached out and impulsively decided on the silken tofu. The purple packaging on it appealed more than the green sticker on the soft tofu did.

“Take it? No, I was planning to decline but I wanted to tell you first so we were on the same page. Why? Do you want it?”

She shook her head, waving her hands in front of her in pacification. “Nope, not at all. I was just starting to like you, too,” she teased.

His shoulders dropped and his neck drooped forward a little. The tension drained out of him instantly.“Oh, good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

She smiled back, rocking back and forth on her feet a bit. “I’ve got to get going to cashier. Are you going to get anything?”

“Um, just some green beans and salt.”

“Alright. See you Sunday?”

“Sunday sounds great.”

Impulsively, she gave him a hug and tried not to rock into his warmth, and then headed back home. She has an irrationally warm feeling in her chest when she realizes that no, Adrien’s not going to pass her over; from a ruthlessly logical viewpoint, they both cared far too much about their kwamis than to ever pass each other over, but she’ll take the heady, cloud-nine feelings as long as they last.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was uneventful, as things usually were now. No more akumas, no more rushed and panicked pedestrians, no more screaming….earrings?

Sure enough, the small black stones were emitting a high-pitched whine; they were also vibrating slightly, just enough that she couldn’t get a firm grip on the backing to twist them off.

“Tikki?” she called. “What’s going on?” Her kwami didn’t appear. She was probably off in another tea session with Plagg and Wayzz at Master Fu’s place. “Tikki?” No answer.

Marinette tapped the earrings again. A light tinkling sound emerged, a stark contrast from the dull clinks from before. Should she transform? Perhaps the excess energy in the Miraculous was doing this; she hadn’t transformed into Ladybug for a month.

A flash of light later (she mentally apologized for interrupting Tikki from her break), she’s looking at a completely different Ladybug.

Well, it’s not _that_ different, but it certainly feels that way when one has been wearing the same costume for close to a decade. For starters, she’s surrounded by a myriad of miniature weapons floating in midair. They range from ancient to modern to fantastical – there’s a tiny lightning bolt and a ballpoint pen – and when she prodded cautiously at a wooden rod, it expanded and shattered on her rug, only to form a whole again. Most of these were patterned in the signature red and black lacquer of the ladybug, but some others seemed to be missing spots in inconvenient places. She would’ve sworn that some of the dots formed something like a paw print, but when she looked away and then back at it, the image was no longer there.

There were also additional weights on her back: light, gauzy wings smacked against the hardened shell of her costume. They shouldn’t support her weight, just based on their size alone, but when she attempted to give them a flutter, she effortlessly rose above the ground. Marinette noted that although she couldn’t feel the wind on the wings, she could control them with a thought. Interesting.

Lastly, she’s sprouted antennae on the top of her head and her yo-yo is no longer slung on her hip – it’s attached to her forehead. A closer look in the mirror revealed that her eyes have shattered into kaleidoscopes. Her vision doesn’t seem to be any different, but the looking glass tells another story.

“Tikki!” she calls again, panicked. Tikki doesn’t usually show up out of the blue, and she rarely materializes after the transformation occurs, but this might be an occasion that warrants her appearance.

“Tikki,” Marinette repeats, attempting to keep her buzzing voice down so her neighbors won’t report her for sound disturbances, “Tikki, where are you?”

There’s no answer. How much energy does this transformation take up? Marinette frantically attempts to remove the transformation, but the costume just doesn’t budge. She can’t even take the glove off – even though the material moves with her fingertips, the latches for the gloves have disappeared.

She bit her lip and worried it between her teeth. Master Fu probably had the answers – and probably would withhold information from her for her own good. Adrien might have them, but he might not have the whole picture. Either way, she trusted Adrien much more, so now the problem was to find him without the populace noticing a strange, insect-like superhero leaping through the streets in broad daylight without the appearance of an akuma.

Adrien, it seemed, had a knack for finding her these days. He tapped a claw against her apartment window and let himself in through the latch.

“Adrien!” She leaped a foot into the air, and without conscious thought, nearly rammed herself into the ceiling with her fluttering wings. The antennae on her head bobbed up and down.

“Marinette, calm down,” he said, approaching her with two hands held with the palms up, reminiscent of how someone would approach an injured dog. She resented the comparison.

“Calm, okay, I can do calm,” she muttered to herself. She willed her wings to stop moving, and she sent herself crashing down onto the rug. Banging came up through the floor. Clearly, her neighbors were already sending out noise complaints to the landlord.

Marinette crawled upright, cradling her right wrist. She’d landed badly on it. “So, how can I help you today?” The throbbing in her right hip intensified. “Actually, let’s go into the kitchen. I need to get some ice.”

“Yeah, sure.” He followed her into the tiny kitchenette and plopped down onto a chair; the belt tail lashed around Marinette’s wrist before letting go.

“I didn’t realize that tail was sentient,” she nodded towards the tail.

“It’s not,” he grimaced. “Just…part of the transformation package today.”

She looked at him closely, something she had forgotten to do in the confusion before. Chat’s costume had changed; he too had miniature weapons, but these were slung on charms adorning his new belt.

“You too?”

“Yeah. The ring starts vibrating, and poof! Here I am, stuck in my costume with no way out.”

“Oh, that happened to me too. Except I couldn’t contact Tikki at all.” She turned around and pulled out a bag of frozen peas. “Juice? Tea?”

Adrien shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll be here long enough for that,” he said.

“Are we going to Master Fu, then?” She sighed. “Just when this Hawkmoth thing was done, too.”

“Yeah.” He sounded a little down, and she realized she probably shouldn’t have reminded him about his estranged cousin who turned into a supervillain.

“Okay. Let’s go now, then, when it hasn’t gotten too dark outside.”

 

* * *

 

Her sore wrist is now throbbing in time with her hip; she’s holding the frozen peas to her right hand, but the throbbing hasn’t decreased. She can feel it just as much as before, and it’s beginning to verge on the edge of irritating and frustrating instead of just painful. She’s shifting from side to side on her feet in Master Fu’s room, waiting to see if the calling ceremony worked so Tikki could, perhaps, shed a bit more light on her questions. The transformations had mysteriously disappeared halfway on the trip to Master Fu’s massage studio, so Marinette was left in a breezy blouse and shorts in the Parisian winter. The peas needless to say, were not helping with her discomfort.

“Is Tikki alright?” She motioned towards the circle of crystals in the center of the room. “She hasn’t appeared yet. This has never happened before.”

Master Fu lifted his head from the tea set. “The kwamis often retreat within the Miraculous during the power surge. I dare say that it is Tikki and Plagg who have successfully reversed the transformations; we simply need to wait until they stabilize the Miraculous enough to emerge.”

Privately, Marinette thought that it was alright for someone like Master Fu who had a bit more time than she had to wait around all night, but Marinette had a morning class she had to wake up ridiculously early tomorrow. It’s been an hour, and there’s been no change in the Miraculous at all.

“Master Fu?” She frustrated herself with how her voice lilted at the end. “I’ve got a morning class tomorrow. I know that waiting an hour is nothing, but I do need to get home. Should I just leave the Miraculous here?”

He shook his head. “No. Tikki may use you as a focus to draw herself back from the Miraculous. Leave them on; you may find Tikki nearby in the next day or so. If she hasn’t appeared in the next 48 hours, come back immediately.”

“Of course, Master Fu.” She thanked him and left, and thanked the gods above when Tikki fell into her hands and not the cup of scalding tea on her kitchen counter.

“Tikki!”

“Marinette!” Her kwami seemed as good as new; her spots were darker and shinier than before, and Tikki seemed to have slightly expanded in size. “Marinette, you’ve got to get to Adrien!”

“Now?”

Tikki nodded frantically. “The transformation’s coming; you’ve got to get to him!” Her kwami bounced in her hand, too frantic to float. “Marinette, why aren’t you moving?”

“The transformation? But I’ve already gone through one today. Do you mean the one where I’ve gotten antennas and a myriad of weapons? ”

“No! The one where you become Ladybug!”

“I _was_ Ladybug, Tikki. It just wasn’t the normal Ladybug costume. I had wings on my back, the suit was a hard shell instead of soft fabric, and I couldn’t take my gloves off.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, that was the one I wanted to warn you about.”

“My earrings were vibrating right before, and I couldn’t find you at the moment. I thought there was too much excess energy in the Miraculous, but once the transformation was on, I couldn’t get it off. Chat said he had the same problem.”

Tikki, much more calm now, floated and whizzed about Marinette’s head. “That sounds perfectly normal, and it’s a good thing you found Adrien.”

“He, uh, he actually found me.”

Her countenance brightened. “Oh! Oh, that’s better; clearly, Plagg had been more successful than I was at relaying the message.” She smiled; her cartoon face stretched into a caricature of the emojis she so loved. “We were trying to get both of you to meet because it calms the jewels. You were right, there was too much energy in the Miraculous, but having both of the pairs be together definitely helps with stabilizing your powers, even if the Miraculous did go overboard at first with the weapon selection.”

“That’s never happened before, though, so why did it decide to – to –“ She struggled with her word choice. “Activate? Is that the term?”

“Sure. Usually, the Miraculous decides to upgrade the wearer when the relationship between the holder and his or her partner progresses.”

“Chat and I have been friends for ages, and we’ve definitely moved beyond casual acquaintances to beloved friends. It’s been like that for a while now. ”

Tikki sighed. “It’s more of a heightened level of trust. Most often, the Miraculous decides to upgrade when both partners have revealed their identities to each other.”

“Okay. Okay,” she repeated, to let her reality sink in. “So we’re essentially progressing to the next step?”

“Just about, and that’s where these complications come in.”

_Ding-dong!_

“Hold on, Tikki, I’ve got to get the door.” She started up to move, but the lock disengaged with a snick and a shock of blond hair moved past the doorway.

“Adrien,” she noted.

“Hey, Marinette. That was Plagg’s doing, I promise. I try not to break into people’s homes.”

“I’m sure,” she replied sardonically, and then had her attention caught by Plagg. Again.

The black furball zoomed straight into Marinette’s fridge, and then popped out again, distinctly disappointed. “You’ve frozen camembert!”

“I do cooking experiments, Plagg.”

“Sacrilege!”

“It’s not your food, anyways,” she said, spikes of irritation peeking through in her tone. “I bet Adrien has some fresh cheese for you; he carries it with him all of the time.”

“I’m not hungry,” he whined. “It’s the principle of it. _Cheese,_ in the _fridge._ ”

Marinette sighed and decided to ignore him. Granted, there was little success in ignoring one of the forces of creation, but she could try, especially when the god in question displayed the maturity of a toddler.

Adrien had made himself comfortable on her couch. She decided that she was feeling petty today, and that he could get himself his own tea, which he promptly did. He also raided her cabinets for her prized chocolate biscuits that she made herself. Clearly, she’d been letting him come by too often lately – without Hawkmoth as an excuse to meet, Adrien often invited himself over to Marinette’s place for un.

“Adrien!”

“What?” Crumbs lined his mouth, and his cheeks were already fatter than a chipmunk’s.

“You – you can’t just come here and stuff these in your mouth! I saw you at the store last week, and you were sick. In fact, you’re still sick!”

“Am not,” he protested before swallowing and blowing his nose. “Besides, everyone knows that cookies are a proven cure to sickness. Well, at least yours do,” he added before filching two more from the box. “You put turmeric in yours, and _everyone_ knows that turmeric has healing properties.”

She huffed, just for show, and plopped down next to him. Marinette hurriedly took a prized biscuit and nibbled on it before they were all gone. “So what brought you here, anyways?”

“Plagg suggested that you two meet up,” Tikki broke in. Her face was suffused in a look of disgust as she watched Plagg inhale one ginger cookie after another.

“We thought this might be a – a –” Plagg sighed, and shoved another cookie down his gullet without choking.

“Remember that discussion we had before they entered the door, Marinette?”

She stiffened. “Right.”

“It’s best that we have the conversation together, so that we don’t have any misunderstandings, do we, Plagg?”

“Charmaine only broke his nose the once, Tikki,” he grumbled.

“Once is more than enough, especially since you told him that he had to crawl up the castle walls and serenade Aalis with screaming yowls, in the ‘true nature of the cat.’”

Marinette bit back a laugh, especially since Chat had tried to do that in the early days of their partnership. He’d simply replaced the castle with an apartment building.

“Anyways, let’s get started.”

“Does Master Fu have to be here?” Marinette asked.

“He’s busy these couple of weeks,” Adrien said. “He’s on a two-week trip to the Himalayas, and he’s leaving tomorrow.”

“Let’s get started then,” Tikki repeated, and then had to forcibly stop Plagg from eating the entire box of cookies. The kwami was so stuffed that he resembled a little balloon with a cat head on top, a far cry from before when he looked more like a bobble head.

 

* * *

                                                                                                                                      

Well, that was a frustrating conversation. Apparently, with Hawkmoth gone, there were no further threats to vanquish. As Tikki pointed out, they could join the police force, but that wouldn’t fulfill the Miraculous in the way that fighting Hawkmoth would. So, Tikki had presented them two options: either find supernatural crime and fight it, or leave the Miraculous to those who would.  

Upgraded weapons and costumes also meant that the Miraculous needed a stronger power source – the marriage between the cat and the ladybug would suffice, as usual, but it also meant that there needed to be stronger foes to fight. And no, taking down terrorist organizations didn’t suffice. One couldn’t interfere with geopolitics all willy nilly – otherwise, it’d turn out like Borneo and DDT, as the States had demonstrated.

But she loved Tikki! Tikki had been her friend for ages, her confidant for just as long. It would be a terror to give her up. Who would taste test her cookies for her? Try on the model’s clothes? Remind her to sleep and to not buy coffee she wouldn’t drink?

She supposed that life would adjust – life always adjusts, but she can’t imagine a life without Tikki in it at the moment. Although, if she were being honest, not being Ladybug would take a huge pressure off her shoulders. She could finally let go and be free, do the things that she’d always wanted to. God knows she has a list of things that were firmly marked off as a solid no – travel, for instance.

Maybe sleeping on her decision would help.

***

As it turned out, sleeping on her decision was like sleeping on a hard rock. Whoever said that decisions were clearer after a good night’s rest was lying.

It’s been a month and the decision isn’t clearer. She feels like she hasn’t slept; the weight of the choice is nibbling at her brain, eating chunk after chunk in its effort to render her senile. Tikki had made it firmly clear that keeping the Miraculous or not was Marinette’s choice; Tikki had her preferences, but she wanted what was best for Marinette.

One thing did get cleared up, though. She turned in her regrets to the opportunity the match department gave her, and requested that it be passed along to someone else. The department helpfully kept her updated and informed her that the one with the sixth chance had, indeed, met their match, pun not intended.

Another bright thing in her life was that winter break was coming up. In between the fiasco that was Hawkmoth and the subsequent mess of a transformation, she managed to throw herself into her schoolwork. Her designs were finally stabilizing in quality and style, even as her versatility and ability to work with fabrics grew, and she was optimistic about the job offers she’d applied to. Graduating in June with a bachelor’s degree in fashion design and fashion business, she could find work as a retail buyer or merchandiser or something else, if it struck her fancy. There were plenty of internship opportunities available, and she’d applied to many, just in case her dream jobs didn’t offer.

 

* * *

 

“Marinette!” Alya’s voice came through the phone one day just after break. Did she accidentally butt-dial her friend? She looked up, and Tikki was holding the phone in front of her, gesturing for Marinette to take it. She plugged her earbuds in instead and hoped that no one saw the bright red kwami on the park bench.

“Alya?”

“Marinette, have you checked your email yet?”

“My email? Why?”

“The fashion design contest! Gabriel Agreste’s contest! The results are coming out today!”

“Today? It can’t be! The results are on January fifteenth!”

“It is January fifteenth, you dummy,” Alya’s fond voice reprimanded. “If you don’t believe me check the calendar on your phone.”

“I could’ve sworn it was the fourteenth, though,” she said absently.

“In your dreams it is.” Marinette could feel Alya shaking her head. “Girl, how do you even function some days?”

“With my phone,” she replied, and then waited in tense silence as her email refreshed. _Come on, come on, come on,_ she chanted. _I just want to know!_

“Marinette? You still there?”

Alya’s voice was like a shock of cold water. “Yeah, still there. My phone’s slow, and this email is just not loading.”

Her friend begin to chatter to fill the silence. “I don’t even know what this means. Adrien called to say to remind you to check your email, and I just want you to get it so bad because Agreste is like your dream. Like if you don’t get in, I’ll literally make you one, I swear.”

Marinette could see the edge of the email, but the description was accompanied by a phrase instructing her to open the log into her account she had to make on the Agreste contest website. She entered her username and password with shaking fingers, cursing when her combination was wrong.

“Damn it!”

“Marinette, what’s wrong? Did you not get in?”

“No, no, I entered the wrong password. Let me try again.”

With a laser concentration, she entered the combination again, and successfully logged into the sight, only to be greeted with the notification that there was an update to her profile. Rolling her eyes, because there was a point to which she could take suspense, Marinette tapped on the update and had her screen filled with confetti.

“Alya, Alya, if the phone screen fills with confetti, that’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, if there isn’t an akuma hanging around.”

Underneath, she could make out the words ‘congratulations,’ ‘offered an internship,’ and ‘await your reply.’

“Oh my god. Alya!” Her shriek echoed off the trees in the park and attracted more than her fair share of glares.

“Did you get in?”

“I got in! I got in, do you know what this means?”

“That you no longer have to dream of being a designer at Agreste’s?”

“That I can actually be an intern at Agreste’s! Thank goodness, I can actually get a job now.”

Alya snorted. “We both know that you’d get a job anyways with your fabulous skills. Congrats! I’m so happy for you. Let me send you a cookie.”

“Thanks, but let’s make it into coffee, so we can both get it cookies.”

“Too late for that.” A large cookie appeared under her nose. Alya slid onto the bench next to her.

“Congrats again.” It was weird how she could hear Alya through the phone and next to her ear simultaneously.

Marinette pulled her earbuds out. “Alya, you really don’t have to do this.”

“You mean Adrien doesn’t have to do it.”

She frowned. “Adrien’s not here.”

Just then, guilty laughter emerged behind the bushes. “Surprise?”

“Oh my god. Adrien, you came?”

“You called, milady?” He, too, was holding a large cookie.

“I guess this is the time to say that congrats as well.”

Marinette whipped her head around. “Nino?”

“The one and only.”

“We were going to surprise you at your apartment, but then Adrien spotted you walking to the park, so we followed you and hoped that you didn’t mind,” Alya explained.

Adrien’s cheeks flushed. “I was on my way to the bakery anyways,” he defended. “And I didn’t want us to show up to your place and find out that you weren’t there.”

“So we followed you here,” Nino added. “Luckily, I had two reserve cookies in my bag, Adrien bought the third – ”

“-he was _very_ insistent on doing so,” Alya sniggered.

“I was almost there!”

“ – so here’s the third one,” Nino finished, magicking a third one into her lap.

“Guys, thank you so much! I seriously can’t have all of this, though, so let’s share. And I, uh,” she smiled a little guiltily, “I brought my own,” and withdrew her own very large cookie from the depths of her bag. It was for a guilty pleasure, and the reason why she’d originally come to the park – she had brought it to eat it. Tikki had finished hers long ago.

“Oh my god, is that a gallette?” Alya squealed. “I’ll trade you for the brownie fudge?”

Marinette snorted. “Sure.”

Her best friend danced away with the thin cookie in hand. With a bit more swapping, Marinette ended up with peanut butter and oatmeal, Adrien with the gingersnap, and Nino, the lover of everything chocolate, with the brownie fudge. She noticed that Adrien had guessed her preferred flavor the best out of all her friends, and savored the fact with a little more warmth than it warranted.

 

* * *

 

Tikki was the one who eventually came up with the solution to their problem. “Marinette,” the kwami began one day, “I think, sometimes, that we just need to choose. Like biting the bullet.”

“Tikki, I don’t want to give you up,” she pleaded. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re unwanted, because you’re _not._ ”

“I know I’m not,” Tikki said. “But don’t you think that sometimes the Miraculous has been holding you back in life?”

“It’s opened up so many experiences, though,” Marinette said. “I’ve made great friends and learned new skills.”

“You also can’t travel, learned to do your own first aid, couldn’t commit to anything as much as you’d like, and put some of your life on pause just for the Miraculous,” Tikki added. “I don’t want you to do that. As amazing as the Miraculous is, I don’t want you to live a double life forever. It’s just not healthy for your state of mind, and as amazing as you are, I don’t think you’re cut out for that.”

“So I’ll just hand this back to Master Fu? You’ll stay dormant for all these years?”

“It’s not as bad as you think, Marinette. We usually stay with our partners for five, ten years, and then we leave because we want them to have a normal life. Only some choose to dedicate their lives to us, but we discourage that.”

“So you’re leaving me for my own good.” Marinette knew she was being a child, but she was furious with the fact that no longer being Ladybug was tempting. And the past few months of her life had never been better.

“I’m saying that you no longer have to be Ladybug if you don’t want to,” Tikki told her gently. “And if it bothers you that much, then why don’t we give this a trial run. Give the miraculous back to Master Fu for two months, and come visit me once in a while. I don’t just sleep when the jewels are back in their case,” she added amusedly. “My consciousness expands so I watch all of the world. It’s how we identify problem areas and who we want to give the Miraculous to,” she explained.

Marinette sat in silence, contemplating it slowly. “Alright,” she said slowly. “I should talk to Adrien before I make a choice.”

“Just make sure that you’re doing what’s best for you, not for anyone else,” Tikki urged. “Please, Marinette.”

“I will,” she said, and then went into her room to make a call.

 ***

Life without Tikki, as it turned out, wasn’t so different than life with Tikki. It was burning and bitter realization that as Marinette had grown up, she had relied on Tikki less and less, and as a result, they had drifted apart. Adrien, too, had confirmed her theory. Plagg  had always been like a younger annoying and endearing friend that often played the role of the devil, and that his life no longer had as many crashes and collisions in it. He didn’t say it, but Marinette suspected that he missed them a bit.

Adrien had also added that Plagg had wanted Adrien to get on with his life without the Miraculous dragging him behind, so Plagg chose to retire to Master Fu. They had both visited their kwamis a few times a week at first, but as life settled, the visits were reduced to once a week.

New villains hadn’t popped up yet, and Master Fu had confirmed what she had suspected – that he had all of the Miraculous, and that Nooroo was still deep in recovery inside the butterfly Miraculous.

She supposed that she couldn’t stall with the marriage now, so she decided to start filing for the marriage certificate. Adrien and she had agreed to go for it, during one of their talks, and although they discussed who would be filling out the form, Marinette decided to go for it.

When she tried turning the intend-to-marry form in to the office, though, the clerk wouldn’t accept it.

“We can’t take this, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he explained. “We don’t take duplicates of the same file.”

“I haven’t filed a certificate here before,” she frowned. “I haven’t progressed far enough with any of my matches.”

“As that may be, even if you haven’t filed one, if your match has, then we can’t take the one you filed. See, Miss,” he turned the computer and pointed at a digital file, “it says here that a match between you and one Mr. Adrien Agreste has been filed has been processed a month ago.”

A month? But they hadn’t verbally confirmed the match together until last week. “Ah. I don’t suppose this Adrien Agreste is blond and tall?”

“I’m not allowed to say,” he said, “but between you and me, a lot of people file the paperwork first in preparation for the proposal.”

“Proposal?”

“Yes; most people like to get the paperwork out of the way before asking their match to marry them. It saves a lot of stress and it streamlines the entire process. So maybe act surprised if you see a ring in a future.”

“I will,” she said faintly. “You’ve been a great help. Thank you.”

“I can shred that copy for you,” he offered. “Seeing that it’s of no use to you.”

“That would be helpful, yes,” she told him, and then walked out of the department in a haze.

Adrien had already filed the paperwork? But a month ago, they were still working through the kwami separations, and although there was a tacit agreement to get matched to each other, she didn’t realize that he’d just turn in the paperwork already.

Where would she live? What was her last name? She knew the difference between the intend-to-marry and actual marriage certificate were different, but they were quite close. Would she have to change residences? Dear god, what would her roommate do? Marinette hadn’t given her the notice for moving out yet, and one must move in with one’s match a month after the marriage certificate was filed, which had to be turned in a mere month after the intent to marry form would file.

Was Adrien planning to propose to her this week?

It was a mess in her head, so she decided to stow it all away until her dinner with Adrien tomorrow.

Great. He was planning to propose tomorrow, wasn’t he? What was she going to do about the ring?

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, he didn’t have a ring with him when they met up at a nice little place that served Indian food. Instead, they had a long discussion about what it meant for their future: getting married, that was.

Cohabitation was one very large elephant in the room, and several pink elephants – and a couple of donkeys – followed after. Budgets? Finances? Just how and when were they going to come home? Where would they live? Would they be getting a pet? What about children? Her schedule wasn’t calming down anytime soon, and neither was Adrien’s. They decided to table the discussion to “the future, but no later than 32” for the first kid.

It was one long uncomfortable topic right after the other. Being in public and eating food helped a bit, she reflected, because she couldn’t actually escape via the windows or the door. The environment forced her to face her problems head on like an adult and fully embrace the understanding that this was her life now.

Well. That was a somber and depressing one. She supposed that part of the reasons why she liked having so many options was that so she could always feel free. But she couldn’t once she was married. And she’d been trapped for a long time, hasn’t she? With college, with her friends, with her internships and job applications and classes and Ladybug. But as long as she wanted them, she wasn’t trapped. Well, with Adrien, she wanted him, too. She wanted that security and domesticity, the idea that she’d successfully found a person to spend the rest of her life with (with or without the help of algorithms) and that she’d conquered one of the most important stages of her life, right next to walking, talking, making friends, and getting to college.

They were heading out to find rings tomorrow – Adrien had confirmed that yes, because he had already turned in the intend-to-marry form a month ago, they would have two days to fill out a marriage certificate and find a new place to live.

It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. The ring, at least, was easy. They sort of walked into a department store and after trying several on, got the thing after a couple of hours. Truth to be told, Marinette had been looking at rings for ages now, so it didn’t take too long to find what she wanted. Adrien had picked up one for himself, and they split the cost of both. “Going dutch,” the retailer had called it. Well, they were the modern sort of people, so going dutch it was.

For the time being, Marinette and Adrien decided that they were going to just move into Adrien’s apartment. He had two bedrooms and no roommate; the latter which was of more importance. Marinette could get her things moved quickly, and most of her furniture came from the landlord, so she couldn’t take it with her anyways. She notified her roommate so there wouldn’t be too much financial pressure for her roommate before Marinette had to move. His apartment was nice, she knew from several visits, and it was close enough to the fashion district that she could easily get to work without waking up too early.

There weren’t any particular arguments throughout the process, although Marinette had the feeling that they were both holding back quite a bit so they wouldn’t trod on each other’s toes. Like life without Tikki, though, she settled into it fairly quickly. It was good, actually. Really good.

 

* * *

 

“Isn’t that beautiful?” She asked, pointing at Buckingham Palace. “The architecture is gorgeous.” Marinette turned her head, only to find that Adrien was looking at her instead. The green of the tree overhead framed his face and she had to resist the urge to take a mental snapshot.

“Not as nice as you are,” he murmured, and then leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek.

“Of course not,” she grumbled, secretly warmed. “I’d imagine how you’d sleep in bed next to a palace every night.”

“I’d imagine that would work very well, wouldn’t it? I’d just cuddle up to you instead and move to the bed without the palace in it.”

She sighed, and leaned her head onto his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go take a tour.”

“Another one?” Adrien pulled his face into a caricature of dissatisfaction, but she secretly knew that he enjoyed learning about history just as much as she did.

“Yeah, I think Plagg’s trying to eat the silverware inside already.” She fingered her own earrings, where the ladybug Miraculous resided. Master Fu had allowed them to wear their Miraculous out occasionally, and there was nothing like striking fear into crime when Ladybug and Chat Noir popped up all around Europe. Besides, she missed perching from rooftops, and she knew Adrien missed the feeling of his baton.

“You’re right, we’d better go.” He grabbed her hand and, laughing, pulled her out of the shade and into the blinding sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. It's the last chapter. I just wanted to say a very large THANK YOU to everyone who has read and interacted with this in any form or way. I seriously value you guys, and I know I was the worst at updating, but after two years, this thing is finally done. 
> 
> I don't know if I ever want to do something this long ever again, and if I do, it probably won't be anytime soon. Just look at how long this one took :). I will say that I have always wanted to write a novel over 50k, probably because I like the number 50, and having done so, this makes me happy.
> 
> I did hope you enjoyed this fic, though, and if you didn't and just wanted to see how this ended, well, I know I did that many times too, so I hope you're happy with what you found. 
> 
> Happy reading and writing, fellow readers and writers!


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